_bmy20s

I. [YOU, THIRTY SECONDS AWAY FROM A MELTDOWN]

You’ve been told that hitting the big three would be a bit like being reborn, a chance to get a fresh start and to leave your past self behind in your twenties… or at least, according to Wonpil, it was. He wasn’t exactly a wild child back in the day, so you weren’t sure where all of this was coming from, but regardless you still decided to take his advice with a spoonful of trust— not only because he’s your best friend, but because you believed in his mantra too.

There’s been some talk going around about a promotion, and with you having worked for this airline for a good seven years now, you know the title of Senior Flight Attendant is practically within reach. You’re ready to enter your thirties with a clean slate, a sharper uniform, and the kind of certainty that maybe, everything was finally falling into place—

Except it isn’t.

“We’re letting you off.”

The smile fades from your lips slightly, and the room settles in a pin-drop silence as you process the words that left your supervisor’s lips.

“I’m sorry?”

“The airline is going through some budget cuts, so we’ve got no choice but to let some people go,” he explains robotically, as though he’s reading off a script. Your heart starts to thump in your ears as the weight of the situation finally settles in, and your smile wipes off completely. “This has nothing to do with you, obviously. You’ve been a great worker and contributed much to the company-“

“So you’re firing me?”

Your supervisor stutters. “Well- you will be getting severance pay. And some additional farewell benefits as compensation. That aside, we’re extremely sorry to let you go. We wish you the best in your future endeavours.”

He bows slightly, and you don’t stop the humourless chuckle that escapes your lips.

Even as you step out of his office, your termination letter already crumpled under the tight grip of your hand, you refuse to fully acknowledge the dread in the pit of your stomach— not until you reach home, and you’re dialling for the one person who could help you make sense of this entire situation.

As usual, Wonpil is all smiles as he picks up, but it instantly disappears when he sees your face. “Wow. Did you get fired or something?”

You flop onto your couch, tossing your blazer aside. “That obvious?”

Your best friend gapes, but he quickly recovers. “Wha- are you serious? What happened?”

“Said the company’s downsizing… or whatever.” You shrug as you stare blankly at the ceiling, and you sense Wonpil shift through the screen. With it being a weekday afternoon, he’s probably still at work, but you couldn’t find it in you to care for disturbing him. “What should I do, Pil?”

“Hey, don’t worry too much. You’ll find a new job in no time! You’ve got the experience and the skillset. Just take this as a stepping stone towards a better opportunity. A silver lining, you know?”

You glance at your phone, and Wonpil is already grinning at you through the screen. You know that’s just the teacher in him talking, and right now, you feel like one of his students after failing a test. Wonpil has always been supportive, so despite your own dejection, you find it in you to smile at him weakly. “Thanks, Pil.”

And even though you’re not really confident in his words, you’re still grateful for his optimism, and maybe some of that is just what you need.

II. IT’S YOUR THIRTIETH DAY OF REJECTION.

You don’t think being optimistic could help you out of this rut.

You’ve been applying to countless of other airlines, only to be rejected by most of them— the rest hadn’t even bothered to reply.

You know what it is, and it’s the harsh truth you’re only beginning to swallow. Age bias has always been prevalent in your industry, and even though you know you’re nowhere near being a grandma, it’s likely the reason why you aren’t getting any offers.

Wonpil has been by your side throughout, though it’s mostly just been you pathetically moping around while he tries to talk you into trying something else— like a job at the airport lounge (seeing your ex-colleagues would only make you miserable) or concierge at a hotel (serving foreign pilots and flight attendants would make you even more).

Which is why, after much debating (not like you were left with much of a choice whatsoever), you landed yourself a job at a café. Basic, but simple, and safe.

The only problem is that you hate it.

It’s only been a few shifts, and you know you wouldn't be able to last any longer. Even though serving people coffee is technically still a customer service job, there’s just something about the mind-numbing repetition of it that makes you itch to walk out the door.

And so, you do.

“Are you serious?” Wonpil scoffs. “You’ve dealt with entitled businessmen and screaming toddlers thousands of feet in the air, but a little coffee spill is where you draw the line?”

“You think I want this to happen?” You grumble in frustration, avoiding his gaze as you busy yourself with the loose thread on your sleeve. “I just can’t, Pil, okay? Gosh, maybe what I need is a break.”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea. You could use the tickets the airline gave you to go somewhere. Figure things out," he suggests.

“Please,” you scoff. “That pathetic thing they call a severance package barely does me any good. You think I’d have a good time overseas knowing my wallet is shrinking?”

“Then maybe you should visit your grandparents, or something.”

A few beats pass as you let his words hang in the air, and your eyes widen with sudden realisation. “Wonpil, you’re a genius,” you whisper before turning back to him, and he only furrows his brows in confusion. “I could rent out my apartment for a few months while I stay in Jeju— to figure things out, like you said. That way I could make money without actually having to work!”

“I mean, I guess…” Unlike what you’ve been expecting, your best friend looks uneasy with your idea, and before you could ask him why, Wonpil continues, “it’s just- if you’re planning on staying there for that long, are you sure you could actually do it? I mean, village life. It’s no joke for city people like us.”

You roll your eyes. “Relax. I visited my grandparents a lot when I was little. And like you said— if I could deal with entitled businessmen and screaming toddlers in the air, a little sun and farming wouldn’t hurt me.”

“What if someone spills coffee on you?”

You nod solemnly. “Then I’ll know for sure that I was never meant to work a day in my life.”

III. THE WEATHER SAYS IT’S THIRTY DEGREES OUTSIDE. The humidity of Jeju-do is quick to catch up to you the moment you step off the plane, and by the time you manage to drag your bags to the taxi stand outside the airport, you're already slick with sweat, with your hair stuck to your neck and makeup halfway down your face.

And because the universe seems to hate you (you haven't gotten a single stroke of good luck since the day you got sacked), there aren't any taxis around.

Not a single one. Of course.

You take in a deep breath before trudging towards the bus stop, the wheels of your luggage squeaking pathetically behind you. No matter— you aren't about to let a little hiccup get in the way of your retreat when it's barely just started. Even if it would take around another two hours for you to reach Pyoseon-ri by bus, and even if the smell of manure in the air is beginning to cloud your judgement and make you wonder if moving on impulse was a good idea to begin with.

Still, you're adamant on not letting up so soon. You make sure to greet the driver when you board the bus, make sure to smile at the other passengers apologetically as you struggle to haul your luggage up the steps. 

The driver doesn't wait for you before he floors the pedal, and that sends you crashing into a random stranger's shoulder. No one reacts. The stranger doesn't even blink.

You let out a slow exhale. Maybe Wonpil did have a point.

✦ ✦ ✦

By the time the bus wheezes to a stop, you're exhausted and completely out of it. Still, you can't help but to marvel at the sights around you as you alight, and it brings a certain warmth to your chest.

Pyoseon looks exactly like how you remember it, with its stone-lined streets that stretches on for miles on end and clear, vast skies you don't get to appreciate in Seoul. The old convenience store you used to frequent still stands, painted walls still chipped and red sign still faded. You spot the tiny, two-room clinic at the corner where you once cried over a scraped knee. It's also the same place you brought in an injured baby chick you found at the side of the road.

You pause for a moment, just standing there as you take in the village. Barely nothing has changed, and you think that's what throws you off the most. After years of chasing new cities, new skies, new routines... it's disorienting to return to a place seemingly still frozen in time.

You grip the handle of your bag tighter before making your way to the village hall. With your grandfather being the village chief, it's the place he'd most likely be at, and at this timing, you figure he'd probably be doing something... mayor-y. Whatever that meant.

The gravel crunches under your shoes as you trudge down the narrow path, and you're becoming increasingly aware of the curious glances and murmurs thrown your way as you near the village hall. You're not sure if people remember you, but one thing's for sure is that you hadn't prepared yourself for any kind of attention at all.

You let out a soft sigh of relief when the familiar one-story building comes into view, and there's loud chatter coming from somewhere behind it— probably the other village elders lounging around on the pyeongsang under the big zelkova tree. The thought of making a sudden appearance sounds awkward— another thing you hadn't accounted for— but when you hear the undeniable sound of your grandfather's laughter echoing in the air, you know you're not really left with any other option.

So you round the corner— and that's when it happens.

SPLASH!

A torrent of water hits you square in the chest, soaking you from the neck down. You don't even register your luggage tipping over as you stand there, dripping, jaw on the floor.

"Oh, crap, I'm so-"

The voice pauses, and you look up at the culprit: a too-tall, too-familiar guy with a bucket still dangling from one hand. You only barely manage to catch the panic on his features before he's squinting at you, and that's when you finally realise—

"Peach?"

"Younghyun?!"

You say at the same time.

He laughs, his hand lowering to his side. "No way. It's really you, huh? The princess of Seoul who swore she'd never come back. Welcome home, Your Highness."

You chuckle humourlessly. "That's rich, coming from you. Not everyone gets to run away to Europe and come crawling back like they never left."

Despite your blatant jab, he grins in response, shameless and insufferable as ever.

And yet another thing you hadn't accounted for— freaking Kang Younghyun. If you'd told Wonpil just how unprepared you are for this trip, you're sure he'd have a heart attack.

The last time you saw the village boy had to be almost ten years ago, before your visits to Jeju started to grow less frequent as you got older and busier. Last you heard, he'd stayed, all up until the last couple of times you visited and he wasn't around. Your grandfather had said something about him working on his masters overseas, and you'd scoffed at that— mainly because of how ironic it was. Kang Younghyun, the boy who used to tease you relentlessly for being too "city-fied" had gone off and did the most city thing of all. Left for a higher education. Abroad.

And now he's back. And so are you.

He's still the same as you remember, with mischief tucked into the curve of his smile and a teasing glint in his eyes. He still has the same thick eyebrows you used to make fun of, and dimples that would appear on both cheeks whenever he smiled too wide, but something about him feels different too.

He's gotten taller. Broader. The sharp lines of his jaw are more defined now, with cheekbones you don't remember being that sharp. You hate that you even notice the glint of sweat on his sun-kissed skin, and you're quick to dispose that thought. Because you hate Kang Younghyun, and you'd rather not admit that he's gotten kind of... stupidly good looking.

"There you are!"

Grandpa appears behind Younghyun, waving as though nothing is amiss. He barely even glances at your drenched state, patting Younghyun on his back.

You scowl. Your first day here, and your own blood is already favouring that smug asshole over you.

"Younghyun-ah, be a dear and give her a ride back home, would you? She must be tired from the journey."

You gape. "Wha- Grandpa, I'm drenched."

"Mm, you'll dry. Help yourself to the food in the fridge and come back here once you're rested, okay? Your grandma will be thrilled to see you once she returns from the district's women's council meeting." The old man is already walking back towards the village hall, but not before patting your head on the way. He glances over his shoulder. "Bicycle's around the back!"

You stand there in stunned silence before turning back to Younghyun, who's already grinning at you like an idiot. He gestures towards the tree behind him, where an old, rusted bicycle leans against the bark.

"Oh, no." You almost laugh at how absurd the situation you're in. "Oh, no, no."

"You heard the man, Peach," Younghyun adds cheekily. "Hop on."

You glower at him. "I'd rather walk barefoot through cactus than get on that thing with you."

Younghyun only laughs, like he knows you're playing a losing game. And he's right, because five minutes later you're clinging to the back of the bicycle, left hand gripping onto the handle of your luggage tightly as you let it drag along the gravel, while Younghyun pedals lazily like it's the most amusing thing that's happened to him all week. You don't even need to look at his face to know that he's grinning widely.

"So, still sweet on peaches?" He asks casually. You can practically hear the smirk in his tone.

"Shut up."

He laughs again.

IV. EVERYTHING IS ABSOLUTELY PEACHY... NOT. You return to the village hall later that night in an old t-shirt and a pair of floral pants you snagged from your grandmother’s wardrobe. You figure if you’re going to be staying in the countryside, you might as well look the part, though you find that it did little to help ease the turmoil in your heart. You think it has something to do with Pyoseon and everything to do with yourself— and annoyingly, maybe just a little to do with Kang Younghyun’s smug face greeting you at every turn. 

You scowl at him before he could say anything, shoving past him by the door and into the living area where some of the village elders are lounging. You instantly spot your grandmother, mid-conversation before her eyes land on you, and she immediately beams.

“My granddaughter!” She immediately stands up to engulf you in a hug, and despite yourself you find yourself smiling. Grandma has always been one to dote on you, and after the terrible first-half of the day you just had, a little comfort is just what you need.

She pulls back just enough to study your face. “Oh, look at you! Have you not been eating? Sleeping? Aish, I keep telling you to take care of yourself! Whatever it is, I’m glad you’re here to stay now, sweetheart. You need some real food in your system to make up for all those years of flying around.”

Someone snickers in the background, and you turn to see Younghyun, leaning against the doorframe casually with his arms crossed.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Something funny?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, no. It’s just- you’d think a city girl would’ve upgraded her diet by now. Still running on iced tea and whatever’s closest to the microwave?”

You laugh sharply. “Stop acting like you know me, Younghyun.”

“Oh, but he does, doesn’t he? You two used to be so close!” Grandma pipes in unhelpfully, and you turn back to her with warning eyes. Not like she noticed whatsoever. “How much I struggled to keep you at home because you’re always running off with this boy doing God knows what. And that peach orchard you kids used to frequent so much-"

“Okay, Grandma.” You force out a smile through clenched teeth, easing yourself out from her hold as you join the other elders on the floor, face burning for some reason.

“Ignore him. He’s just messing with you.” One of the elders pats your hand mindlessly before turning back to the group. “But enough talk about that. Where were we?”

“Ah, yes. The signboards! We need to retrieve them from storage to get them painted. The tent materials can wait until we’re done with housekeeping, so until then, let’s focus on cleaning up the area.”

You blink before whispering to the old lady. “What are we talking about?”

“The annual harvest festival, my dear! You remember, don’t you? We’re doing a big event this year— food stalls, performances. The whole village is coming together!”

Your lips part as you nod. After all these years, you’d forgotten about the harvest festival that takes place in the summer every year. You’d attended a couple of times back when you were younger, but your visits were never long enough where you actually got to help with the preparations beforehand.

There were a lot of food, and lanterns, and dancing— that much you could recall, and you vaguely remember failing miserably at ring toss while Younghyun laughed at you. Subconsciously, you glance at him, only to find him already looking at you with a lopsided grin on his lips.

You turn away.

“Well, now that we have an extra pair of hands, it seems that we have nothing to worry about this year, do we?” Grandpa appears from the kitchen. “Don’t underestimate my granddaughter. She may be a city girl but she’s a tough one.” He grins at you, and the compliment makes you smile.

“Good! Then you and Younghyun can get started on washing the sheets tomorrow.”

Your smile instantly drops. “Me and who now.”

Grandma ignores you. “Our machines aren’t able to handle the load, so you’d have to do it by hand. Don’t worry, Younghyun will guide you through it!”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” you mutter, though it falls on deaf ears.

The elders are quick to move on, chattering about what needs to be done for the festival preparations. You lean on your hands with a sigh, until you feel someone settle in the empty space next to you.

“So, looks like it’s me and you tomorrow, Peach.”

You don’t even need to look at him to know that he’s smirking. Younghyun slides something towards you, and you glance down to see that it’s a bottle of peach tea. You narrow your eyes at it suspiciously, and he laughs.

“Relax. It’s not like I poisoned it. Consider this a peace offering for earlier. Plus, thought it suited you.”

You turn to smile pleasantly at him, purposely batting your eyelashes. “Because I’m sweet?”

Younghyun leans in, his voice teasing. “Because you bruise easy.”

You instantly scowl, and Younghyun laughs heartily as he stands up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Princess. If we finish on time, we could even go disturb Grandpa Han at his orchard like we used to.”

“I hope you choke.”

"That's the spirit," he coos, patting your head before whistling his way out.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated a person more.

V. PEACHY CLEAN! OR SO YOU THOUGHT. The sun is high by the time you reach the courtyard of the village hall, shades resting on the bridge of your nose and a popsicle in hand. You don't stop the pleased smile that graces your lips when your eyes land on Younghyun, looking pathetic with his back to you as he hunches over a large basin, elbow-deep in soapy water.

"You seem to be hard at work."

He only spares you a glance over his shoulder. "You see, I am a man of my word. Unlike somebody over here."

You roll your eyes wordlessly, finishing the last of your popsicle before squatting down next to him. You've never washed a whole bedsheet with your hands before— not like Younghyun needed to know, obviously. All you had to do was spin it around in soap a few times before washing it out with water. Can't be that hard, right?

"Fill this one with water so I can rinse it out," he instructs, nodding towards the red basin to his left. You decide to swallow down your complaint about how you'd just squatted down, getting back on your feet to step to the faucet begrudgingly. You pick up the hose lazily, angling it to the basin next to Younghyun before turning the tap on. If you're being completely honest, this seems like a one-person job, one Younghyun looks totally capable of doing on his own, but you wouldn't be surprised if the only reason you're here is because he wants to see you miserable.

You squint at his back, the man clearly unaware of you throwing daggers at him as he continues to scrub the bedsheets with his hands. You note the way his brows furrow in concentration, the flex of his muscles with every wring, and the droplet of sweat formed on his temple...

You smirk.

"Say, Younghyun?"

"Hm?" He hums in reply, clearly too distracted to catch your overly-sweet tone.

You don't say anything as you flick your wrist, and in an instant the water from the hose arcs through the air, hitting him square in the back and soaking the fabric of his shirt.

Your grin grows wider. "Oops."

Younghyun freezes, far too long for it to be comfortable than you'd like to admit, before he lets out a low chuckle. He stands up slowly, but he doesn't face you yet.

"Peach."

Your smile falters slightly, but you tilt your chin upwards. "What?"

He finally turns to you, jaw tight and face devoid of any humour. He's dripping from the neck down, similar to how you were yesterday, and you can't help the satisfaction that blooms in your chest. Even if it's at the expense of you potentially getting killed by Kang Younghyun in the next five seconds.

He takes a step forward, and you don't wait for him to say anything else before you drop the hose, making a run for it. Unfortunately for you, Younghyun is fast— of course he is— because the next thing you know, you feel yourself get yanked backwards harshly towards his chest, and he doesn't even hesitate before drenching you with the hose.

"Let go of me, you freak!" You shriek as the ice-cold water hits you, thrashing against his hold.

Younghyun laughs— completely loud and completely unbothered— the running hose still in one hand while the other grips on to your waist tightly.

"Should've thought of that before you decided to mess with me, Princess."

"You splashed me first, asshole!"

“To which I gave you a peace offering! A peach offering, if you will-"

"Yah! What are you two doing?”

The both of you freeze. Younghyun is the first to let you go, and you slip slightly on the wet ground. He steadies you by the wrist.

“Didn't I tell you these needed to be done before noon, boy?” One of the elders squint at you and Younghyun from afar. “And you still have to collect the signboards from the old storage hut, remember? Now you’re behind!”

You tense, parting your lips to utter out an apology (since this was clearly a two-man disaster), but Younghyun beats you to it.

“Sorry, Grandpa. That’s on me. I’ll get it done.” He bows his head, water still dripping from his bangs. 

The old man grumbles under his breath before walking off.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, glancing at Younghyun awkwardly. “I-“

"You should go dry off,” he mutters, almost casually as he wrings his own shirt. "Before you catch a cold and blame me for the rest of your life."

You’re still stunned, but you still find it in you to scoff. “What, so you’re kicking me off sheet duty now?”

"Peach, I'm serious." Younghyun finally looks at you, and it's an expression you're not quite familiar with. He hands you a towel from one of the baskets. “Go. I'll finish the rest, okay?"

You want to make a sarcastic remark about him caring for you, but you bite your tongue, accepting the towel wordlessly instead. Younghyun goes back to tending to the sheets (but not before shooting you a wink, of course; that idiot), and you’re left staring at his back while your heart thumps wildly in your chest.

You’re not sure what this feeling is. Some of it has to be guilt, you believe. A small part of you is grateful, and the rest…

The rest, you think you’d rather not acknowledge.

VI. IF ONLY YOUR PAST IS AS FUZZY AS YOU FEEL. You lean against the windowsill of the village hall, phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you watch the quiet afternoon roll by. Chickens cluck in the distance, the occasional breeze rustles the trees, and the scent of freshly-cut grass wafts lazily in.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ve developed a healthy loathing for dirt and manual labour. And the fact that freaking Kang Younghyun insists on making my life a living hell every single day, but apart from that it’s not all bad, I guess,” you mutter. “Better than being jobless in Seoul.”

“You? Hating manual labour? Shocking,” Wonpil chuckles. “You know, I still don’t know what happened between you and that guy. I mean, didn’t you have a crush on him for like, half your life-“

“Shut up,” you hiss, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. Fortunately, nobody else is in the kitchen besides you, the elders all gathered in living room. “I was young and stupid, okay?”

“You were twenty.”

You don’t respond immediately. Speak of the Devil— your eyes fleet to Younghyun’s figure outside as he hauls some crates onto the back of a small truck, his hair swept back messily and shirt clinging to his back with sweat.

Still irritatingly attractive, unfortunately.

“It’s… it’s stupid,” you mumble, looking away. “We were good friends. Until we weren’t.”

Wonpil is quiet for a beat. “He broke your heart?”

You inhale sharply, your mind instantly going back to that one fateful night, many summers ago. It’s been ten years, yet the memory still plays fresh in your mind like it’s just happened yesterday.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” Younghyun mutters, hands stuffed in his pockets as you walk side by side. It’s dark, the two of you having spent the whole day outside, and now he’s walking you home. You don’t know how to tell him that you don’t want to go back.

“Uni starts in a week. I have to prepare,” you reply just as quietly, as though going any louder would contribute to the growing tension in the air between you two.

“Yeah, but-“ Younghyun stops walking suddenly, moving to stand in front of you. “Couldn’t you- I don’t know- stay till then? Your parents have to be okay with that, right? Hey, maybe if I talk to them, they’d give in.”

He grins down at you boyishly, but you could still make out the hopefulness in his voice. Stupid Kang Younghyun. If only he knew how the sight of his smile alone is already enough to convince you to stay. Hell, even his stupid beach blond dyed hair that’s constantly unkempt and constantly needed to be held back with that stupid bandanna of his is making you reluctant to leave, no matter how much you make fun of him for it.

You think that’s just because you’re hopelessly in love with him.

"I'll come visit. I promise."

His smile grows softer, and he raises a hand to tuck a loose hair behind your ear. "I know, Peach."

You bite your inner lip, your heart thumping erratically at the nickname. You've always called him out for it, you think it's stupid and childish, but Younghyun has never agreed to let down. "You've made me climb peach trees for you since we were kids, and your cheeks always grow pink when I call you that. What else should I call you if not Peach?" He'd say, and that'd shut you up every time.

Tonight, however, you can't help but feel like there's more to it. Like a certain weight neither of you is willing to acknowledge.

His fingers linger on your skin, and you don't miss the way his eyes fleet to your lips. It makes your breath hitch, the way it always does when you catch him staring at you for too long but not doing anything about it.

So right now, you do. You lean in first, pressing a hesitant kiss to his lips. It's clumsy, but it's soft, and just as you think he's about to meet you halfway, Younghyun pulls away.

“I- we shouldn't have done that," he mutters, just before you could say anything. He avoids your gaze as he runs a hand through his hair, and you scoff softly.

"Really?" You whisper, taking a step back. "Seriously, Younghyun, why do you keep doing that?"

He finally looks at you, his expression passive and not at all like the boy you thought you knew.

"You think I don't see the way you look at me? Like- like I'm the only girl in the world that's worth your time? You think I don't notice whenever you want to kiss me, only to hold yourself back at the last second because you're scared?"

Younghyun chuckles dryly. "Don't flatter yourself."

His words hit you like a slap, and anger courses through your veins. "What- so you're telling me none of these ever mattered to you? That I don't mean anything to you?"

"I never said that," Younghyun cuts you off, his voice low. "You don't get to do that, okay? You don't get to leave, only to come back and pretend like nothing's changed. I'm not about to be a chapter you come back to when things get boring."

"Is that really what you think of me?" You ask, voice trembling slightly. Younghyun stays quiet, and that's about all the answers you needed.

"Fuck you, Younghyun," you laugh slightly, wiping the tears that are already streaming down your cheeks. "You know, just because you're mad that some people can make it in the city and you can't, doesn't mean you get to take it out on me. You asshole."

You meant to hurt him, and you know you did, with the way he clenches his jaw at your words. Still, he scoffs humourlessly as he takes a step back, and in that moment, you know you're about to lose him.

"Then I guess we were never meant to be in the first place."

"Yikes."

"Yeah. But it's whatever. I'm over it."

"Really? Because it sounds like there's still some pent-up resentment-"

"I'm over it, Pil."

Wonpil pauses. "Alright, fine, yeah. Anyway, your birthday's in a few days. Thirty's supposed to be a fresh start, remember? Do you have anything planned yet?"

You scoff. "Maybe I'll go down to the farm and smear myself with cow dung."

"You're gonna jinx yourself."

"Whatever," you mutter, turning around as you push yourself off the wall, only to still when your eyes land on Younghyun, already looking at you with a brow raised.

"Hello?"

"I'll call you back," you mumble before ending the call. You clear your throat, crossing your arms as nonchalantly as you could. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to hear you want to smear yourself with cow shit. I didn't know you were into that kind of thing, Peach."

"Shut up." Your cheeks burn as you move to leave, but Younghyun blocks your path.

You look up to glare at him. "What?"

"I have to go to the local market to deliver some crates." He shrugs. "Wanna go for a drive?"

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. "What's the catch?"

He chuckles. "Seriously, how low do you think of me?"

"Can't blame me for thinking that now, can you?" You blurt, and a flicker of something flashes across Younghyun's face. Before he could say anything, you beat him to it. "Fine. Lead the way."

You're surprised that he remains quiet after that, and for a moment you let yourself dwell on the possibility that maybe, he remembers that night just as vividly as you do.

Younghyun swings the door of his truck open for you, which you respond with a glare.

He grins at you cheekily. ”Knew you liked my company, Peach."

And just like that, the moment is ruined. 

✦ ✦ ✦

It's a short drive to the market. You'd tried not to enjoy the scenery too much— you knew Younghyun would be smug about it— but it was nice nonetheless. It reminded you of the drives you used to take with Grandpa when you'd follow him around to run errands, though most of the time you'd stay inside his truck to admire the stretches of farmland and clusters of wildflowers along the road.

The locals wave at Younghyun as he backs up into the unloading area, and you hop off as soon as he puts the truck in park. You don't wait for him to tell you to unload the crates (you're not really keen on a repeat of the bedsheet incident), greeting the uncle at the delivery bay as you get to work.

"Hey- what are you doing? Let me do it." Younghyun appears beside you, taking the crate from your hands effortlessly before he sets it on the ground.

You raise your brows. "Isn't that why I'm here?"

"No. I only asked you if you wanted to tag along, not to get you to do manual labour. These are heavy, Peach." 

You huff, crossing your arms. "What, just because I'm a woman-"

"Princess," Younghyun sighs, turning to face you. "I asked you to come because I wanted your company, not because I needed a second pair of arms. So just... sit there and look pretty, okay?"

Your mouth falls open in disbelief, though you can't fight the heat that's beginning to creep up your neck. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He grins, already turning back to unload the rest of the crates. "Pretty privilege. Take advantage of it."

"You're actually insufferable."

"So I've heard."

"Aigoo, I've always known you two would get together eventually," the uncle muses as he helps Younghyun. "Only took a couple of years, huh boy?"

"I- we're not together," you utter stiffly.

"Really? Then why don't you go do something about it?" The uncle smacks the back of Younghyun's head lightly before he turns to you. "Do you know how grumpy this boy's been since you left town? I haven't seen him smile this widely in years."

"Uncle," Younghyun groans as he rubs his head. "I'm not gonna deliver your fish for you anymore. I don't want to."

"Quit sulking, boy. It's not cute." The older man rolls his eyes. "But, little lady, since you're here, Grandpa Han just delivered a fresh batch of peaches earlier. Go get some for the drive back, okay?”

You don't know whether to be impressed or embarrassed that practically everybody remembers of your little... obsession, with the fruit, but you nod and thank him regardless. You don't wait to see if Younghyun follows you before you wander into the market, mostly keen on getting away from him before he could notice the rising blush on your cheeks.

The marketplace is bustling with people, but not in a way that overwhelms you. If anything, the crowd kind of reminds you of home, except here, everybody seems to know who you are.

“Isn’t that the chief’s granddaughter?” Someone murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear as you pass.

“Oh, you’ve grown so pretty! Just like your mother.” One aunty beams, stopping you as she reaches out to squeeze your arm affectionately. “I’m sure your grandparents must be so happy you’re back for good!”

“Um, I-“

“Excuse us, Aunty, sorry. We’ve got a delivery schedule to keep.” Younghyun suddenly appears next to you, his hand finding the small of your back as he gives the lady a polite smile.

“Oh, Younghyun-ah! Don’t forget, I need you to fix my gate for me!”

“Will do!” He calls out over his shoulder as he gently steers you away, and you could only afford to blink.

“Quite the talk of the town, aren’t you?” He bends down to whisper teasingly in your ear, to which you quickly shove him away.

“Shut up,” you mutter. You try not to notice the warmth that disappears from your back when he drops his hand.

You spot the fruit vendor at the end of the market, but just as you’re about to head towards it, a small stall tucked between two others catches your eye first. You find yourself making a beeline towards it instead.

The table set up is filled with handmade trinkets and an assortment of dried tea leaf pouches— basically stupidly cute handmade stuff you rarely ever see in the city. You don’t stop the soft smile that makes its way to your lips as you pick one up— a small hand-sewn pouch stamped with tiny peaches.

“If you buy one of these necklaces, I’ll give you the pouch for free.”

You smile at the uncle as your eyes fleet across the jewellery display, all dainty chains with pressed flowers encased in resin as charms.

“They’re all so beautiful,” you murmur.

“Each one has their own meaning. Like this one.” He picks one up. “The chrysanthemum symbolises health and good fortune. Or if you’re looking to get a gift for a friend, the sunflower would be a good pick,” the uncle explains before he looks at someone next to you, and that’s when you notice Younghyun’s been there all along. “What about you, son? Looking for something?”

Younghyun gives him a dimpled smile, shaking his head. “Just looking around.”

You thank the uncle, telling him you’ll come back another time. It’s almost lunchtime, and you figure you should probably get back soon to help Grandma get started on food prep.

You don’t realise that Younghyun’s stayed rooted to his spot as you wander off towards the fruit stall, his gaze fixed on your back.

“You sure you’re not looking for anything?” The uncle muses knowingly.

Younghyun turns to him, a small chuckle escaping his lips. His gaze drops down to the display again, scanning each charm carefully until one in particular catches his eye.

“This one.” He points towards the purple one, neatly pressed with its petals still intact. “What does it mean?”

“Ah, the lilac.” The uncle nods as he picks the chain up. “This one’s for first love.”

There’s a pause. Younghyun’s eyes flick to you once again, blissfully unaware, talking to the fruit stall vendors as you carefully pick out your peaches.

A faint smile touches his lips as he nods.

“Wrap it, please,” he tells the uncle, softer this time as he takes out his wallet. He makes sure the necklace is packed safely in the peach-patterned pouch he saw you eyeing earlier before pocketing it.

It’s just a small thing, Younghyun tells himself. A mindless gesture. A gift for your upcoming birthday which he still remembers after all these years. Or, if he wants to be honest with himself— a silent apology for all the things he’d left unsaid. For the way he hurt you on purpose before you left.

Maybe it’s foolish. Hell, maybe it’s even too late.

But if a flower could say what he never could, he figures it’s a start.

VII. THIRTY, FLIRTY DIRTY, AND… NOT THRIVING.

It's your birthday.

Grandpa had also tasked you to work at the farm today.

He'd said something about cleaning out the cowshed, as the farmer was down with a flu. What he failed to mention was that you'd be working with Younghyun— though at this point, you're not even surprised anymore.

So that is how you find yourself at the farm at the far end of Pyoseon, arms folded across your chest as you wait for Younghyun to lead all the cows out into the pasture. You narrow your eyes at him as he works, looking far too chipper for someone who’s about to be surrounded by animal shit.

You don’t like how the sight of his grin is making your heart accelerate. 

Wanting something else to do, you quickly grab the shovel leaning by the wall before stepping into the shed. Your nose scrunches at the smell— it’s warm, earthy, and a little too natural for your liking. Not like you’re left with a choice, anyway. You hesitate slightly before stepping into the first stall, the floor caked with straw, mud, and… well, the obvious.

You clench your teeth as you slowly manoeuvre between the piles, the mud squelching with every step you take. The sound makes you cringe.

And as if you’re not overstimulated enough, the straps of Grandpa’s overalls he’d loaned you keeps sliding off one shoulder, and his old rubber boots which are at least two sizes too big feel like they’re actively plotting against you.

You groan, pausing to hitch the fabric higher while you adjust your foot in the boot, all while hoping you could make it out of here unscathed.

You don’t hear him approach.

“Boo.”

You scream. And promptly lose your footing.

And the next thing you know, you’re on your butt, right in the middle of a particularly wet patch of cow dung. A few beats passes as you process the situation, and you look up to glower at the absolute menace before you. The asshole even has the audacity to look amused, his shoulders shaking as he tries to stifle his laughter.

“Kang Younghyun,” you mutter lowly, your gloved fingers already fisting the mud around you. “You have five seconds to run.”

He coughs to conceal his chuckle. “I mean-“

“Five.”

Younghyun yelps before he bolts away, and you immediately take off after him. “You coward! Come back here!”

The sound of his boisterous laughter as he sprints down the road is mocking, and you’re left screaming his name while simultaneously hoping that he’d trip over a rock and plant his stupid, handsome face to the ground.

You slip a little in your boots as you chase him, but you think it’s the pure fury that fuels you to catch up to him. Younghyun is fast— damn him— but you’re faster when you’re angry.

You soon catch up to him, and with a warrior’s scream you launch yourself onto his back.

“Wha-?”

Somehow, by some ungodly miracle, Younghyun doesn’t fall. He does stumble once, but he quickly recovers as he readjusts his grip on your legs, all while he continues to run for his life— with you clinging on to his back like a koala. The asshole’s still laughing, the sound much closer to your ears now that you’re on him, and for some reason, you can’t stop the incredulous, yet amused scoff that escapes your lips.

“I hate you!” You shriek despite yourself, punching his shoulder repeatedly with one hand while your other arm clings around his neck.

“I noticed!” Younghyun is grinning from ear to ear as he glances behind at you. “Did you eat bricks, or something?”

You gape. “Put me down, then!”

“Never,” he replies, almost sing-songy as he slows down, only to start spinning you around like some deranged carnival ride. You squeak, squeezing your eyes shut as your arms tighten around his neck, while your chin finds his shoulder as you will yourself not to fall.

His laughter eases into something softer then, just as he turns his head to meet your eyes. You gasp softly at the sudden lack of distance between you both. You’re close— so close, that if you were to just lean forward, your noses would touch. You could make out the specks of brown that dances in his irises, though they’re no longer filled with the mirth you’ve gotten used to since you arrived a week ago.

No— because right now, Kang Younghyun is looking at you the way he did back then, with that quiet, unspoken tenderness that always made you wonder if he loved you.

“You okay?” He asks, quieter now.

You don’t answer immediately, only now realising that you’re not even spinning anymore. You loosen your grip on him, letting yourself slide down his back.

“What do you think?” You mutter. “I smell like actual shit.”

Younghyun chuckles, but he doesn’t tease. He stares at you for a moment before he reaches towards you, like he wants to move a stray hair off your face.

Like the way he used to.

But he pauses at the last second, and you see the way his jaw ticks before he drops his hand. And just like that— the easy smile makes its way back to his lips. Like nothing’s ever happened.

You don’t dwell long enough to wonder if he’s faking it or not.

“We should probably get back to work if we don’t want to get yelled at again.”

You narrow your eyes at him, talking as if this whole thing isn’t his fault to begin with. You opt to bite your tongue, glancing towards the shed instead.

You turn back to him. “Last one to reach the stalls scrapes cow poop off the wall.”

Younghyun startles. “Wait, what wall-“

But you’re already gone, kicking up mud in your wake.

You hear him shout out your name, that stupid nickname you claim to loathe so much, before his footsteps follow after you, deliberate and teasing. He’s not even trying to catch up to you, and you know it.

And for the first time since you’ve arrived here, you don’t stop the laughter that bubbles out of your chest.

✦ ✦ ✦

It takes a few showers to completely get the smell off of you, and by the time you’re done, you’re starving.

The house is empty, just like you had expected, but what you didn’t expect was for there to be no food under the food cover on the table.

You frown as you turn to the fridge, where a particular note catches your eye.

Preparing for festival. Come to the village hall if you’re hungry. 

You’re seriously considering having sleep for dinner given how tired you are, but you’re also really famished, so that’s what eventually makes you drag your feet outside, not bothering to remove the towel from your neck as you trudge lazily towards the building a few houses down.

The village hall is dark as you near it, and you figure nobody’s inside and there’s probably just some leftovers for you in the communal fridge. You push the door open, and—

“Surprise!”

You nearly drop your towel.

The light in the living room flickers on, and you’re met with a crowd of familiar faces— including Younghyun who stands right in the middle, looking stupid with a party hat that’s far too small for him on top of his head. Someone sets a party popper too late, and the speaker screeches before blasting birthday trot music loudly. There’s even a banner with your name and a collage of your photos from when you were young to right before you left for university. And along the wall leading to the kitchen, is a long table packed with all your favourite dishes.

You blink, stunned. “I- what is this-“

“Your party, silly!” Grandma steps forward as she takes your hands into hers, smiling at you fondly. “Did you really think we’d forget our favourite granddaughter’s birthday?”

The tears are quick to pool in your eyes. “I’m your only granddaughter,” you manage to chuckle through a sob.

“Yes, but we’re not your only grandparents, are we now?” She motions to the elders behind her. “Go on.”

You barely have time to protest before you’re ushered away, pulled into a flurry of hugs and too many plates of food. You’re quick to get lost in the warmth of it all, though every so often, you still find yourself searching for the one person who demands your attention even in a room full of people.

And every time your eyes would meet across the room, he’d give you that same soft smile— the one that admittedly makes your chest twist a little.

It isn’t until much later when the laughter starts to die down and the crowd starts to thin do you slip outside the back door for some fresh air. It wasn’t like you were looking for him, but you’re still grateful to find him there, sitting on the steps, staring into the distance with a bottled drink in his hand.

Younghyun looks up, lips settling into an easy smile when he sees you. “If it isn’t the birthday girl.”

You don’t reply immediately as you sit next to him. “I didn’t think anyone remembered.”

He’s silent for a while before he replies softly, “I never forgot.”

Your breath hitches at his words. Younghyun chuckles under his breath before he inhales, looking at you. “Well, it’s not every day you turn thirty, huh? I know it’s probably different than how you would’ve done it in Seoul, but we make do.”

“I don’t think I would’ve enjoyed it in the city anyway.” You smile faintly, wrapping your arms around your knees as you hug them to your chest. You know Younghyun’s still staring at you, but you don’t look at him— not yet. “I … lost my job. Spent years flying all over the world, only to be grounded by age in the end. If you’d asked me a month ago, I would’ve told you I was miserable. But now that I’m here…” you pause to take a breath. “I guess thirty isn’t so bad when you’re surrounded by an ageing community.”

Younghyun laughs, even despite your poor attempt at a joke. It’s quiet for a while, but not the uncomfortable kind, until you feel him shift beside you.

You look at him as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small bag.

You recognise it instantly from the small stall at the market a few days back.

“Happy birthday, Peach,” he says, handing it to you.

You’re stunned, and it takes you a while to accept it. The fabric is delicate in your fingers, and as you pull apart the string to open the bag, a necklace drops onto your palm, the delicate lilac charm catching in the moonlight.

“It’s really pretty…” You feel your throat begin to tighten, but you don’t cry yet. “What does this one mean?”

Younghyun laughs under his breath, looking back to the view. “You’ll figure it out.”

You scrunch your brows at his obscure answer, but before you could press, he’s already handing something else to you. “Here.”

It’s a book— a planner, it seems— the numbers 2015 embossed on the cover.

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion as you flip it open. Inside the front cover, scrawled in fading ink is a small note:

For all the stories you’ll live out there. Write them down and don’t forget about here.

Don’t forget about me.

— Younghyun

“I was supposed to give this to you back then. Before- you know,” he trails off.

You blink, only for a single tear to drop on the page, right next to the words he’d written for you.

“I was stupid,” Younghyun continues quietly. “I thought hurting you would make it easier to let you go. But it didn’t,” he chuckles. “It only hurt me even more.”

You shut the book. “God,” you mutter, biting your lip to stop it from trembling. “God, you suck, Younghyun.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles breathlessly, reaching out to brush his thumb gently against the moisture on your cheek. “I know, Peach.”

You laugh, but it comes out as watery. “You made me cry on my birthday,” you sniff, looking at him through your bleary vision. “You ass.”

Younghyun’s smile softens, and he shifts a bit closer. His hand lingers on your skin, like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t want him to.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, quieter now. “I’m so sorry, Princess.”

You didn’t need him to say more— not when the tremble in his voice is evident, like its holding the weight of the ache you’ve shared over the last ten years. For every silence, and for every what-could’ve-been.

And as you lean on his shoulder, his arm coming up to wrap around you, you start to feel at home again.

VIII. THINGS ARE SWEET LIKE SUMMER FRUIT.

The next morning, the air feels different. 

Not drastically so. Younghyun still teases you when you trip over the uneven path outside your grandparents’ house. You still threaten to hit him with your sandal every few minutes. But there’s something between the both of you, something soft and unspoken, unsaid but understood.

You’re sitting on the pyeongsang behind the village hall, a stack of signboards between your legs as you work on painting the one on top. You’re relieved to get a bit of downtime after being roped off to help with harvesting earlier, while Younghyun had gone off the collect the tarps and poles from the old storage hut.

You haven’t seen him since then, though you’re sure he’s probably just around the back where the tents are being set up. You’re almost tempted to go take a look, bother him for no reason, maybe even trick him into getting you an ice cream from the convenience store.

You don’t even realise you’re smiling to yourself like an idiot until Grandpa appears.

“There you are!”

You look up, brows furrowing slightly to see that he isn’t alone. You don’t recognise the man next to him, but the thing that catches your attention instead is his suitcase, attached to it a tag with the words: FLIGHT CREW. 

And judging based on the white dress shirt he dons, the shoulder tabs empty where a pair of epaulettes should be, you know who— or rather, what, he is—

“You’re a pilot,” you blurt.

The man laughs, though you could tell he’s slightly taken aback by your words. “I… yeah. Wow. I actually wasn’t expecting anyone to catch on.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I work as a flight attendant. Well, used to,” you quickly correct yourself. You wipe your hands on your pants before standing up, muttering out an apology for your lack of manners before introducing yourself meekly.

“This is Sungjin,” Grandpa says. “He’ll be staying over at the inn for a while. Thought I’d introduce you both since, you know, you have something in common.” Grandpa turns to him, patting his back. “You came at the right time, son! The harvest festival is taking place in a few days. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”

Sungjin smiles, bowing his head politely. “If you need help with anything, please, let me know.”

“Ah, don’t be silly. You’re a guest! Though I’m sure my granddaughter would be more than happy to show you around, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

“I- of course!” You stutter slightly, not expecting for the conversation to be thrown back to you. “I do need to go to the market later. Why don’t you tag along?”

“That sounds great, actually.” Sungjin nods. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah.” You bite your inner lip to suppress a smile, though you don’t think it’s working very much.

Sungjin’s really handsome, and even from the short conversation you’ve had with him, you already know he’s effortlessly charming. It’s rare for Pyoseon-ri to receive visitors, let alone someone with a noble job like his.

“What’s got you smiling so prettily?” A new voice asks a few moments later, and you turn to see that it’s Younghyun.

“No one,” you mutter, before clearing your throat. “I mean, nothing. Are you done with setting up the tents?”

Younghyun shrugs, hands gripping the towel slung around his neck. “We’re putting up the lanterns tonight. Wanna come with me to the market?”

You gasp, a smile making its way to your lips as you set down your paintbrush, standing up eagerly. “Actually, yeah. There’s someone I want you to meet— I'll introduce you to him later. Pick me up at the inn in an hour, okay?”

“Him?” Younghyun echoes, but you’re already skipping back towards the village hall, blissfully unaware.

He watches you go, the warmth of your smile lingering even after you’re long gone. He exhales softly before turning back to the shed, though for some reason, he can't shake off the feeling of unease that’s beginning to bloom in his chest.

✦ ✦ ✦

Younghyun tightens his grip around the steering wheel.

You’re seated right next to him, knee bumping into his every time his truck goes over a hump, but even despite the lack of distance between you both, your attention isn’t on him.

It’s on Park Sungjin.

Younghyun hasn’t said a single word since he picked you and your new pilot friend up in his truck; he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. There’s an ease between the two of you— shared lingo, familiar gripes, jokes only people in the aviation industry would understand. It’s comfortable, natural.

And in the driver’s seat, Younghyun is anything but.

You’re laughing at something Sungjin had said, and the sound causes him to inhale sharply— not like he had meant to. But that must've caught the pilot’s attention, because he soon turns to him.

“What about you, Younghyun? Have you always been at the village?”

He could tell the question is genuine, but his lips still twitch in irritation. “Yeah,” he utters, keeping his voice level. “I did leave for a few years to do my masters, but now here I am.”

“You know, you never told me what you studied,” you pause before an excited gasp leaves your lips. “Was it music? You know, Younghyun’s really good with instruments.” You turn back to Sungjin. “Back when we were younger, he’d always have his guitar with him, even if it was just to go to the convenience store. It was so annoying-“ you laugh before your voice grows softer, “but everybody always looked forward to hear him play.”

Younghyun’s breath hitches at your words, though he’s not quite sure if it’s because you’d remembered, or the fact that he hasn’t heard you this animated since you came here.

You’re still turned towards Sungjin, cheeks flushed with laughter, and he watches the way you light up in a way he hasn’t seen— not for him, at least. Not like you did last time.

A flicker of something bitter coils in his chest.

“It was environmental law,” he utters curtly, knuckles paling as he squeezes the steering wheel again.

“Wow, really?” You sound genuinely surprised.

He chuckles dryly. “Why? Didn’t think I had it in me?”

“No.” You frown. “I just- wasn’t expecting that.” You’re quiet for a few seconds before you continue, “then… why did you stay?” You ask tentatively, as though unsure on whether your question would be deemed offensive or not.

Younghyun takes a beat to reply, but his words are sure. “Because Pyoseon’s my home.”

The ride is silent after that.

IX. YOUNGHYUN IS IN A BIT OF A JAM.

It seems like the harvest festival has gotten everyone’s hands on deck, because Younghyun hasn’t spoken to you in days. He’s seen you, of course, but most of the time you’re either busy helping out the grandmas in the communal kitchen, or out in the fields harvesting fruit as you giggle with Sungjin about God knows what.

Younghyun strikes down his axe with a little more force than necessary, the wood log splitting into two in one go. He just doesn’t get why Sungjin has to linger around, offering to help, but more importantly— why did he have to stick with you?

“Need help?”

Younghyun pauses, glancing over his shoulder to see that it’s the man himself, two cans of beer in his hands. He offers one— and because Younghyun doesn’t want to seem like an asshole— he accepts.

“So, is the harvest festival a big thing you guys do every year? Seems like everybody is involved.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Younghyun utters, tapping his fingers mindlessly on the rim before cracking the tab open. “It’s mostly out of tradition, not money. The elders have been doing it for years now.”

“I see. I like it, though.” Sungjin smiles wistfully. “The village spirit, I mean. You don’t really get to see that elsewhere.”

Younghyun hums, taking a sip of his beer for the mere sake of needing something to do. It’s not like he has anything against small talk, but it’s obvious from the get-go that him and Sungjin are worlds apart. That, and—

“You don’t like me very much, do you?”

Younghyun raises a brow before he chuckles, though he’s sure it comes off more sarcastic than amused. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, for starters, you always look less than thrilled every time I’m around. Even now, you’re gripping on to that can like you have a personal grudge against it.” Sungjin nods towards the can in his hand, which, true to his words, is being held in an iron grip. Younghyun relaxes his fingers.

“I’m just not too keen on newcomers,” Younghyun mutters under his breath, taking another swig from his drink.

“No.” Sungjin pushes himself off the wall behind him. “You’re just not too keen on me.”

Younghyun laughs humourlessly. To think that he thought he was being stupid for not liking the dude when he hasn’t done anything wrong— scratch that. He thinks he might actually hate the guy now.

“And it’s all because of a certain someone, isn’t it?”

He didn’t even need to say your name. The knowing glint in his eyes is enough.

“Well, I don’t blame you,” Sungjin continues lightly. He takes a slow sip of his beer, eyes still on Younghyun. “She’s easy to like.”

Younghyun’s jaw tightens.

Oh, he’s really starting to hate this guy.

“There you are!”

The sound of your voice causes Younghyun to look away first, breaking whatever staring contest he was having with Sungjin. You approach them with a smile, clearly unaware of the tension in the air.

“Can somebody help me lift the fruit crates? They’re heavier than they look,” you huff, brushing your hair behind your ear while your other hand stays on your hip.

You’re sure you’re looking a mess right now, your skin flushed pink due to the heat and your shirt clinging to your body with sweat. You’ve been on your feet since daybreak, and you think your limbs might just fall off if you so much try to carry something with your arms.

“I got it.”

“I’ll help.”

Both men say at the same time, and your eyes widen before you let out a chuckle. “Okay. Didn’t know I was so in-demand,” you attempt at a joke, but only Sungjin laughs.

“What can I say? It must be your lucky day.”

Your smile drops a fraction as you glance at Younghyun, who only looks away when your eyes meet.

He still hasn’t looked at you properly since your conversation with him in his truck, and you’re stuck wondering if he’s mad at you— that you’d crossed a line without meaning to.

You thought things were better now— they were supposed to be, because what the hell was that night on your birthday, then? Or that little moment you had at the farm?

Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe you’d been looking too much into it.

Or maybe, Kang Younghyun's still the same boy you knew from ten years ago— bad with words, and even worst with emotions.

✦ ✦ ✦

The three of you end up working side by side, but even then, you can't stop your eyes from drifting to Younghyun every now and then.

He's quiet, mostly keeping his focus on the task at hand and barely speaking unless he has to.

Now you know that something's definitely up.

You wait until Sungjin excuses himself to take a call before stepping closer. "Hey," you say softly, tentatively. "Can we talk?"

Younghyun glances over his shoulder. "Sure," he exhales before facing you completely, wiping his palms on his pants. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I just..." you trail off, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve as you think of your next words. "The other day? In your truck. I'm sorry if I said something out of line. I never meant to make you feel like your choice wasn't good enough."

Younghyun tilts his head, almost in confusion as his brows furrow. "Wha- Peach," he sighs as he steps closer. "You didn't say anything wrong. Did I really make you feel that way?"

"I don't know." You shrug, averting your gaze. "I guess I just thought you were mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you. I could never be mad at you, Princess," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry. I worried you, didn't I?"

You meet his gaze again, and for the first time in days, it feels like he's really looking at you.

You bite your inner lip, and Younghyun's gaze softens. He doesn't hesitate before bringing his palm to your cheek, caressing your skin gently. "I'm just... figuring things out," he says quietly. "Don't think about it too much, okay?"

You're not convinced, and you're sure he could see through you, but Younghyun settles for a smile— soft, genuine, and unlike the teasing smirks he'd always shoot your way. You can't help but wonder if things really are changing between the both of you.

"Tomorrow," he continues softly. "Would you make some time for me? During the festival?"

You don't know why he even felt the need to ask. "Of course, Younghyun."

His smile grows wider then, but it still doesn't reach his eyes. "Then that's enough consolation for me."

You don't know what he means by that, but you decide to let it be for now.

Because maybe, you were wrong. As much as Kang Younghyun is still bad with handling his emotions, it didn't mean that he's still the same boy you left ten years ago.

Because this time, he's not pushing you away.

This time, he's finally trying.

And you're not going to let the same thing from before happen again.

X. BEFORE THE STORM IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH...

Lanterns glow overhead, casting the village in a warm haze. The air smells of sweet teok and grilled seafood, and as much as you’re tempted to help yourself to another round, the fireworks show is about to start, and you’re still yet to find the one person you’ve been looking for since the festival started.

You’re breathless by the time you spot Younghyun, over at the game booths where he’s currently competing in ball toss with one of the village kids. He’s looking far too engrossed and far too set on winning that he doesn’t even notice you, only doing so when the game ends and he turns to give the kid a high-five. The bright smile on his face grows softer then, and you step towards him.

“You couldn’t have let him win?”

Younghyun chuckles. “He’s twelve. He’ll be fine. You didn’t see me give him my prize?”

“I did. I just wanted to tease you.”

The soft smile is still etched on his lips as he gazes at you. Quietly, he says, “come. I want to show you something.”

You nod, letting him lead the way. The chatter and laughter of the crowd grow more distant the further you set out, and soon you’re surrounded by nothing but the occasional chirping of crickets and the sound of your own footsteps.

“You’re not kidnapping me, are you?” You ask warily. “At least let me watch the fireworks first.”

Younghyun laughs as he glances over his shoulder. “You’ll get your fireworks, Peach. I’m not that cruel.”

You roll your eyes, though it lacks any real bite. It’s dark out, making it difficult for you to actually tell where you are— that is, until the path you’re on starts looking a little too familiar, and you realise—

“The peach orchard?”

Younghyun nods with a proud grin. “I just thought it was weird we haven’t been here since you arrived. So I figured, why not tonight? For old time’s sake.”

You let out a short laugh as you step forward, taking in the scene before you. It’s still the same as you remember, with the four-seater swing under the oldest tree where you used to spend too much time eating peaches on, and the solar-powered garden lanterns that would only turn on at night lined along the pathway.

You turn to Younghyun to say something— anything, at that point— but the sudden series of whistles and crackles in the sky cause you to look up instead.

You marvel at the explosion of colours, streaks of red and gold sizzling at the edges before dissapearing into smoke.

“So pretty,” you murmur, mostly to yourself.

“The prettiest,” Younghyun replies just as quietly, and you turn to see that he’s already looking at you.

His gaze doesn't waver, not when the sky lights up again, not when the boom rattles around you. You wonder how long he's been watching you instead of the fireworks.

"You haven't changed," he continues. "You still light up like that when you're happy."

You heart thunders in your chest. "I- what do you mean?”

Younghyun smiles faintly. "Your birthday. The day at the farm. This moment right now," he exhales. "I've been holding myself back from saying it all this while, but I don't think I can keep doing that anymore."

Another burst of light reflects in his eyes when he finally turns to you fully.

"I never stopped loving you, Peach.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and when you see the way his eyes flicker to your lips, you’re sure you stop breathing completely.

Slowly, Younghyun leans in, his fingers reaching up to brush against your cheek. You don’t pull away, and the moment his breath hits your skin, you close your eyes.

But just as his lips are about to touch yours—

Your phone pings.

You flinch, hands fumbling to silence it. But Younghyun’s already glanced down, catching the name on your screen.

Sungjin.

He inhales sharply. It’s quiet, but you catch it anyway.

“We should head back,” he mutters, taking a step back. “Before somebody else notices you’re gone.”

“Younghyun, don’t do that,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I’m not letting you push me away. Not again.”

“I’m not pushing you away, I just-“ he pauses to sigh. “He likes you too, you know?”

“So?” You scoff. “Sungjin’s just a friend, and he’s literally leaving next week. It’s not like he’s staying here forever.”

“And you are?”

His question sounds simple, but it carries a certain weight you’ve been dead set on avoiding. You look away. 

“I don’t know.” It’s silent for a while before you sigh. “He told me there’s an opening at his airline. I- I haven’t said yes yet, but-“

“But you’re thinking about it.”

You nod slowly. “It’s a good opportunity.”

“If it’s something you want.“ His eyes drift to the sky. “Then you should go for it.”

You remain silent as you search his face, trying to find a hint of sincerity. But his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and that tells you all you need to know.

“Do you want me to?”

“If it makes you happy,” Younghyun quips simply, like that in itself is enough— it isn’t.

You step closer towards him. “That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s what matters,” he corrects you, and your heart twists. Because as much as he’s saying all the right things, you can see right through him— the ache he’s trying to swallow down.

And suddenly, it feels like you’re staring at twenty-two year old Kang Younghyun again, only this time, he’s not just letting you go— he’s bracing for it.

XI. PEACH BETTER HAVE MY HEART.

You ended up taking the job.

You didn’t tell Younghyun, but he found out anyway. Word spreads fast in the small village of Pyoseon— that, and that Sungjin had already told him, the day he was set to leave.

"I don't know what happened between you two, but I think you fucked up, dude," Sungjin muttered as he loaded his bags into the taxi. He turned to Younghyun. "But anyway, she already said no to me. Do what you will with that info." He smiled briefly, patting him on the shoulder. "I don't suppose you'd be up for a drink the next time I come here?"

Younghyun chuckled, and for the first time, there wasn't any hint of malice in it. "Have a safe journey, man."

And that led him to now, in his room, lying down on his bed as he stares at the ceiling blankly.

Younghyun knows he's in no place to blame you for not letting him know. After all, it was him who had run away like a coward— all because he was far too afraid to tell you that he wanted you to stay. Needed you to stay.

But who is he to do that? Who is he to stop you from chasing your own happiness? You'd left ten years ago and managed to make a name for yourself— that alone was evidence at how well you could thrive without having anything holding you back. Meanwhile, his masters degree is collecting dust somewhere in his drawer, all because he couldn't bear to leave the village and the people he calls home.

Maybe this is what it means to love someone. Wanting you to be happy, even if it doesn't include him.

But of course, what he doesn't know is that he's missed the point entirely— because there's no damn way you could be happy without him.

You stare out of the window blankly, the fields passing you by. You don't notice the way Grandpa keeps stealing glances at you as he drives, far too caught up in your own thoughts.

"He'll show up. Don't worry."

You turn to look at him. "Huh?"

"Younghyun."

You scoff humourlessly. "I highly doubt it."

"Even then, what seems to be the issue? You're finally getting back on your feet. Soon you'll be flying again, and you won't even remember it happened."

"I don't think I could ever forget him," you say quietly. "I never did. Even when I left ten years ago. Even when I kept coming back to visit and he wasn't around. Even when-" you pause, fiddling with your fingers. "Even when he hurt me. Pushed me away."

Grandpa sighs. "Did he ever tell you why he left?"

"Yeah? To get his masters."

"No," Grandpa chuckles. "Well, he did, but that wasn't all to it. Said he wanted to give it a try— do something new. Just like you did." He smiles wistfully. "So he took on environmental law. And he was good at it, you know? Until he came back and said it wasn't for him."

He shakes his head. "But I knew it wasn't his job he disliked— it was the system. He realised he'd be spending more time fighting paperwork than actually making a change, so... he left. Because in this day and age, where everyone wants to sell and modernise, someone has to stay behind and say no."

You swallow harshly. "I didn't know that."

"He never stopped talking about you, you know?" Grandpa glances at you softly. "About how much he admired you for going out there, living life in a way he never could've imagined himself to do."

You remain wordless, though your heart rings loudly in your ears.

He sighs then. "He never wanted to hold you back. A quiet life in a quiet town? That's Younghyun. But it isn't you, is it?"

"I could be." The words tumble out of your mouth before you could stop them, and when you turn to Grandpa, wide-eyed, he's already smiling at you softly.

"What's stopping you, then?"

Your pulse beats faster now, louder, and though your next words come out in a hushed whisper, you've never been more sure.

"Turn back around, Grandpa. Please."

✦ ✦ ✦

Younghyun isn't home by the time you reach his place. Grandpa's already left, and so that leaves you with no choice but to sit at his front doorstep— not like you even wanted to leave, anyway. You'd wait all night for him if you have to, just so you could scream at his face and call him stupid and then kiss him senseless. In that order exactly.

You don't notice how much time had passed— definitely far too long, that's for sure— as you tremble in the cold, fiddling with the charm of the necklace he gifted you; like doing so would give you some semblance of hope that he'd return.

And he does, hours later, his hair unkempt like he's brushed his hand through it one too many times, face sullen and eyes red like he'd been crying.

He spots you the same time you look up, and Younghyun stops in his tracks, lips parting.

"Peach-"

"You weren't even going to say goodbye?" You whisper harshly, getting to your feet as you step towards him until you were toe to toe. "I waited for you." Your voice trembles, and you know you're about to start crying. "I waited for you and risked almost missing my flight, but you never came. And then Grandpa told me we had to go, and I did, and then I told him I couldn't do it and asked him to turn back around and- and you weren't even home!"

Younghyun gazes at you silently before he looks to his shoes, exhaling shakily. "I went to the airport," he murmurs as he clenches his fists, knuckles turning white. "I thought- I thought you left. That I was too late. That I missed my chance to fix things again-"

"Then why do you keep doing that?" You question him exasperatedly. "After everything! My birthday, the fireworks— you told me you never stopped loving me. And you were just going to let me leave?" 

"Because I knew you'd stay," he fires back, voice cracking. "And I didn't want you to drop everything just because I asked you to."

"God, Younghyun," you chuckle bitterly. "That isn't your choice to make!"

"You think I don't know that?" He exclaims, frustrated. "You think I haven't kicked myself for every second I spent not running after you?"

Younghyun clenches his jaw as he turns away, tears pooling in his eyes. "Ten years ago, I let you go because I was scared— scared that loving you from halfway across the country would wreck me. And maybe it would have. But watching you leave again, not because you wanted to, but because you thought I didn't care— that broke me worse."

You're quiet as you let your first tear fall.

"I didn't let you go because I didn't love you," Younghyun whispers, meeting your gaze again. "I let you go because I did. So much. And I didn't know how to hold on to someone whose dreams would always take her to anywhere else."

"That's why you didn't fight for me?" You ask quietly, shakily.

A humourless scoff escapes his lips. "I didn't think I deserved to."

"Idiot." A choked sob escapes your lips, followed by a short laugh as you wipe your cheek with the back of your hand. "I love you too, you know?"

Younghyun gazes at you sadly through his own tears.

"Grandpa told me everything," you continue, lips still trembling. "The actual reason you stayed. And if you'd just told me—" you hiccup. "We could've figured something out. Anything. Because I don't think I'd be able to leave a second time knowing I'm not the only one still holding on," you pause. "Am I?"

"God, no." Younghyun runs a hand through his face. "Never."

"Then let's take this chance," you whisper, taking his hands into yours. "We've lost ten years already, so don't you dare push me away because you think you're not enough. Let me decide if it's worth it."

Younghyun chuckles softly, and he lets you reach up to wipe the moisture from his cheeks, still staring at you like you're the only thing that matters in his world. You are.

"I'm not staying for you, Younghyun. I'm staying with you. Remember that."

Finally, he pulls you in, and this time, Younghyun holds you like he's afraid you'd slip through his fingers again. You let him, clutching the back of his shirt like it's the only thing anchoring you to the ground.

"Okay," he murmurs, his lips brushing the crown of your forehead. "I don't want to run anymore. Not if you'd still have me."

"Stupid. Of course I'll still have you," you mumble against his chest before pulling back to look at him. "But you'd have to spend the rest of your life making it up to me."

He smiles, thumbs brushing the sides of your face. "I wouldn't dare think of doing otherwise."

And then, he kisses you, and it feels like a new life has been breathed into you once again.

It isn't loud, or overwhelming— just the steady beat of two hearts finally catching up to one another.

Home.

The comment is offhanded, but it still sends a wave of uneasiness down your spine. You know how your mother is— she’s the reason why you’re so wary of people like Brian to begin with. Because everything you assume about him? She’s already proven herself true.

Mr. Kang hums in agreement. “A man like him— steady, responsible. Any girl would be lucky to have him.”

The old man glances at you as he utters the last few words, and your grip tightens around your glass. Whatever it is that’s about to come next, you know you’re not going to like it.

“That’s why we’ve been thinking…” Now, it’s your father’s turn to speak. “It’s time you start considering a more suitable future for yourself. We’ve talked it over, and we believe Younghyun is the right match for you.”

A beat of silence passes by, as though everybody is waiting for you to react first. You even feel Brian’s steady gaze on you, and that’s when you realise— he knew. That asshole knew.

You don’t stop the chuckle that escapes your lips before it escalates into full-blown laughter, and if not for the tears in your eyes, you would’ve caught the awkward glances being exchanged across the table.

“Honey-“

“You-“ your voice comes off as hoarse. “You want me to marry him?”

“It’s a good match.” Your mother takes a bite of her steak, completely unfazed and completely dismissive of your slow descend into insanity.

“For who? For me? Or for your business connections?” You snap.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” your father cuts in, unimpressed.

You scoff, turning to him. “I’m dramatic? You’re literally selling me off in the middle of dinner and I’m dramatic?”

Your mother sighs, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. “Sweetheart, let’s be honest. You were never going to make a sensible choice on your own. We’re doing you a favour.”

Your stomach twists. You know what she’s hinting at. “Excuse me?”

“You’re wasting your time on a boy who barely has enough to pay for his own dinner, let alone yours. How do you expect us to trust your judgement?”

Of course. Of course, they’d bring up Wooshik. Your parents never took a liking to your boyfriend since you introduced him to them two years ago, and while that was an issue you’ve been putting off for a while now, always convincing yourself you’d cross that bridge when you got to it, you just never expected for it to catch up to you so soon.

Then again, you should have known. Your parents always play the long game.

You shake your head, your chair screeching against the marble tiles as you stand up. “You know what? I’m done.” You spare Brian a glare as you do so, the man infuriatingly calm as he watches the entire ordeal unfold ike he’s in a board meeting.

Oh, you hate him.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Your father calls out to you, his voice sharp.

You don’t bother to reply as your storm out of the dining hall, hailing down the first cab you see the moment you exit the country club. There’s only one person you want to see right now, one person who could make sense of this insanity. The one person who, despite what your parents think, chose you for you.

You arrive at Wooshik’s apartment in twelve minutes, your knuckles rapping loudly on his door. In hindsight, you should have given him a call first, knowing that he’s probably already asleep at this time, but in your frazzled state it seems that all sense has left you completely.

The door finally swings open after what feels like forever, but you’re met with someone who isn’t your boyfriend.

“Yes?” The girl greets you with an unimpressed stare. For a moment, you think you’re at the wrong apartment, until your gaze flickers to the number plate above the doorbell. Not that you even needed to; you’ve been here probably a thousand times. There’s no way you’d mistake your own boyfriend’s place, no matter how distressed.

And for the second time that night, your heart drops to the pit of your stomach, only for it to shred itself into little pieces when Wooshik appears, shirtless, eyes widening when they land on you.

“Baby-“

“Who is this?” You ask lowly, shakily, because even despite everything, you still have an inkling of hope that maybe, this is all just a huge misunderstanding. There’s no way that Kim Wooshik, your boyfriend of four whole years, would cheat on you, right?

But he only stays silent, and that was all you needed to hear.

Your heart pounds in your ribs, each beat louder than the last, but Wooshik still says nothing. He doesn’t deny it, doesn’t push past the girl in his doorway to get to you. He just… stands there.

And that’s when you realise— he’s not speechless because he’s guilty. He’s speechless because he doesn’t care.

“Oh, wow,” the girl hums, arms crossing over her chest as her eyes twinkles in amusement. “Took you this long to figure it out, huh?”

You turn to her slowly, fists clenched at your sides. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, c’mon,” she pauses to laugh, gesturing lazily to your boyfriend— if you could even call him that. “Look at him! What other reason could there be for someone like him to go for someone like you?” 

When you don’t answer, she raises her hands, rubbing her middle finger against her thumb. As though you needed a reminder— tonight, of all nights— the only thing people truly cared about.

Money.

And it was a good thing you had loads of those too, because being broke sure as hell wouldn’t be able to get you out of what you did next.

You punched her.

You don’t register it until it happens, the loud crack that echoes in the hallway— your knuckles, her nose, you’re not entirely sure which. One thing for sure, you’re seeing red.

She stumbles back with a shriek, but you’re already turning to Wooshik.

“You bastard.”

Your fist collides with his jaw before he could even stammer out an excuse, and his back hits the door behind him upon impact.

“Are you insane?!” He yells, cupping his bruising cheek as he pants.

Maybe. But right now, you don’t care. Even when you feel the stinging of your scalp as the girl fists your hair and yanks you backwards, you recover fast, and you think it’s the pent-up rage from before that spurs you to continue, disregarding your broken nails as you claw blindly and ignoring the contents of your clutch spilling onto the floor as you use it as a makeshift weapon.

“Stop! Stop it- people are looking!“ Wooshik hisses as he grabs you from behind, pulling you away from his mistress. You yank yourself free, whipping your neck to look at him.

“Oh, now you want to care what people think?” You laugh sharply, ignoring the curious eyes of his neighbours as they watch through the cracks of their half-open doors.

Before he could reply, you’re interrupted by the sound of sirens.

Loud. Distinct. And definitely getting closer.

And as the red and blue lights spill through the corridors, it finally registers.

You’re screwed.

The police station is desolate at this time of night, and if it weren’t for the position you were in, you could even say that it’s peaceful.

You’re seated across an officer— Officer Jung, as the placard on his table suggests— who’s flipping through his notes.

“So, wanna tell us what happened?”

You don’t answer, exhaling sharply through your nose— this wasn’t how you imagined your night to end.

“Seeing as there are no serious injuries, we could let you off with a warning and fine. But, if Mr. Kim and Ms. Shin decide to press charges, well, you might have to deal with a court date at a later time. If you tell us what happened, we could help you— make things easier, at least.”

You scoff humourlessly as you keep your gaze on your lap— your bloodied fingers fiddling with your clutch you miraculously still have with you. It’s bent out of shape and not even able to lock properly anymore, leaving you to notice that some of your items are probably still left on the floor outside Wooshik’s apartment.

And then, you notice it— a familiar sleek, black card, hidden away in a tiny pocket on the wall of your purse.

You haven’t used this bag in a while— it’s been almost a year, you believe, but you instantly know to whom that card belongs.

You look at Officer Jung. “I want to make a phone call.”

He looks taken aback at your sudden request, but quickly recovers. “You’ll get your phone call, but talking now could make things easier for you, if you’d just cooperate, Miss.”

You don’t reply, and the officer sighs.

“Fine. One call.”

He pushes the telephone on his table towards you, and you pick up the receiver while you take out the namecard with your other hand. The phone rings thrice before he picks up.

“Brian Kang speaking.”

“I need you to come pick me up.”

A pause.

“Where are you?”

“Gangnam Police Station.”

Thirty minutes later, you hear his voice again, this time in person. Brian is speaking to the officer at the front desk before he’s handed something to sign, and soon he’s directed to where you’re seated at the waiting area.

You turn away, suddenly feeling conscious of your appearance. You’re sure your mascara is smudged and your hair is a hot mess, and while you really couldn’t care less of what anybody thinks of you— much less Brian— you figure there’s only so much humiliation you could take in one night.

“Ready to go?”

You peer at him through your eyelashes, the man only looking back at you patiently like you’re not at a police station and he isn’t here to bail you out. Brian Kang, with his hair styled to perfection and his black tie still in a neat Windsor knot despite it being close to midnight. The only indication that he’s even been through a day is his blazer being unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but even then, he still manages to look presentable.

Oh, how infuriating. You hate him.

You don’t say anything, standing up and smoothing out your dress in the process. Not like it did much, whatsoever.

“Oh, wow. And who’s this?” A voice sounds from the other side of the room, and you turn to see that it’s Wooshik, a lazy smirk on his lips despite the bruise blooming on his jaw. “Guess I’m not the only one who’s been unfaithful, huh?”

Your blood boils. “You-“

You want to lunge towards him, but a firm grip around your wrist yanks you backwards, and you feel Brian’s chest against your back as he holds you firmly.

“No.” His voice is calm but absolute, his grip tightening when you struggle. “Not here.”

“Let me go,” you seethe, but Brian doesn’t budge.

“And what?” He answers smoothly, tilting his head towards the officers who are watching you intently. “Get yourself in more trouble?”

Wooshik snickers. “You hear that, babe? Keep proving to everyone what a slu-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Brian cuts in, his tone so sharp that Wooshik actually shuts up.

You take the opportunity to yank yourself free, and giving Wooshik one final glare, you march out of the station.

Brian is close behind you, as you could tell from the sound of his footsteps, and when you stop, he stands right beside you.

“Brian,” you utter without looking at him, keeping your gaze trained on the almost-empty parking lots in front of you. Your fist your hands tightly, unsure if the pain you feel is from your injuries or from the utter betrayal you’ve received from everyone tonight. “Let’s get married.”

He chuckles softly. “You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean.”

You clench your jaw as you turn to him, just in time for him to meet your gaze. There’s a twinkle of something in his eyes— mirth. Amusement. Almost as if he’s teasing you, and you hate that.

“You don’t think I’m serious?”

“I think you’re angry,” he corrects, now turning to face you fully. He places his hands in his pockets, casually, like you’re not on the brink of lashing out and him not on the receiving end. “And people say all sorts of things when they’re angry.”

You can’t help but to let out a humourless scoff at his tone. You’d think that he’d drop his fake-nice act now that it’s just the two of you, but if anything, it’s even more infuriating. Who the hell does he think he is, talking to you like you’re a child— like he’s trying to gentle parent you, at that? Even your own parents don’t do that!

“I don’t like you,” you say bluntly, earning a raised brow from Brian. “But right now, I think I hate my life even more. So, really— marrying you doesn’t even sound like the worst idea.”

Brian exhales a quiet laugh as he shakes his head. “You’re doing this out of spite.”

You jut your chin towards him. “Oh, what, so now you’re a mind reader?”

“No,” he quips as he lowers his head to meet your eye level, and his lips stretch out into a wide grin. “I just know you’d rather set yourself on fire than to admit defeat and let your parents say ‘I told you so’.”

You grit your teeth. “Go to hell.”

He chuckles. “Tempting, but I think I’ll stick around for a while.” Brian straightens up, finally giving you space to breathe as he adjusts his cuffs, acting like he’s having the most normal conversation in the world. “So, rings?”

You frown. “What?”

“For the wedding?” He adds, tilting his head. “Unless you’d rather wing it and let your mum pick them out?”

You roll your eyes wordlessly before shoving past him, the sound of his mocking laughter trailing behind you. You don’t even know where his car is, but you keep walking anyway, desperate to put some distance between you and that insufferable smirk.

Just what the hell did you get yourself into?

Your wedding with Brian was nothing short of excessive extravagance, as is the rock that now sits on your finger. As stunning as it is, a three-carat diamond ring with a pear cut and matching silver band that fits perfectly, it’s a reminder of your legal bind to the man, whom, even over the last couple of months, you found yourself to still despise.

It isn’t easy to live with someone like Brian when he’s the direct opposite of you. Precise, methodical, and annoyingly put-together— that’s him, and he’s everything you’re not. While you struggled to remember in which box you packed your toiletries prior to the move, he was already done with colour-coding his sock drawer. As you were cursing yourself for dropping one of your favourite scented candles, he was quick to appear beside you with a broom and dustpan, and by the time you were done being dramatic, there were no more glass shards for you to accidentally step on.

The only upside that came with your marriage was the fact that you’d never have to deal with your parents’ suffocating expectations again, even if it meant having to coexist with Brian and all his… Brian-ness.

There were no I-told-you-sos, (because you never bothered to disclose the ending of your relationship with your ex-boyfriend), no condescending lectures, just quiet, satisfied approval, because you had done exactly what they wanted— married a man they approved of, and moved into a life that was deemed respectable. In return, that got you out of a house you never really got to call home to begin with, and for a while, that was enough, until you realised that sharing a roof with Brian came with its own set of problems— like the way he insists on organising the kitchen cabinets like it’s a damn grocery aisle.

“That doesn’t go there.”

You glance over your shoulder to see Brian leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossed as he watches you place a mug in the cabinet.

You arch a brow. “It’s a cabinet. For mugs. Where else should it go?”

He exhales before nodding to somewhere beside you. “Top shelf. Left side. Next to the tall glasses.”

You scoff, turning to face him fully with the mug still in your hand. “Seriously, Brian, do you hear yourself when you speak? It’s a cup. A cup. Who cares where it goes? Are you running a five-star restaurant in here? Are the housekeepers going to judge my mug placement skills? Does the fate of the world depend on whether or not my mug sits next to your stupid tall glasses-“

In the midst of your rant, you don’t even even notice him stepping forward, plucking the mug out of your hands before placing it exactly where he wants it without so much as a word.

“There. Problem solved.” He dusts off his hands before looking down at you. “Also, it’s Younghyun. I told you, Brian is for business. I’m your husband.”

“And our marriage is purely transactional. I’ll call you whatever I want,” you bite back.

“Hm, fair. Should I start calling you sweetheart, then?”

You know he’s trying to rile you up on purpose, and oh, boy, is it working.

You glower. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He merely smiles— that infuriating, knowing smile— and you know he’s noticed the way your cheeks burn in anger. But, being the asshole that he is, he chooses not to say anything.

And somehow, that only makes it worse.

“Sweetheart, could you pass me the salt?”

Your fingers stiffen around your utensils as you slowly turn to him with a glare, Brian not even looking at you as he continues to cut his steak, like nothing ever happened. Like that damn word didn’t just escape his lips; like he’s been saying it for years instead of just now, in front of both of your families.

He only looks up when he realises your silence, and even has the audacity to raise his brows as though to ask: what’s wrong?

You grit your teeth.

“Oh, I absolutely adore what you’ve done with the house! You know, with a space this big, there’s only one way to truly make it feel like home.” Brian’s grandmother beams from across the table.

You don’t like where this is going, but Brian, the ever-perfect grandson, humours her. “And what would that be, Grandma?”

Grandma Kang claps her hands, grinning in a way that reminds you of Brian when he’s teasing you. Now you know where he got it from.

“Filling it with little feet, of course! A house this grand shouldn’t be put to waste— imagine how wonderful it would be to hear children running through these halls.”

Even though you saw it coming, you still find yourself choking on your food as her words hit you before you could process it.

You grasp for your water, but before you could, Brian beats you to it as he slides his own glass towards you, his fingers brushing yours as he does so.

“Careful, darling,” he says, his hand coming up to pat your back. You barely get to register the warmth in both his touch and his voice before it leaves you completely, and he’s back to sipping on his wine by the time you turn to him.

Like nothing ever happened.

“We’re still young, Grandma.” Brian returns to the conversation with an easy smile. “What’s the rush?”

“Yes, but I’m not getting any younger, son,” Grandma Kang hums disapprovingly. “I do want to see at least one of my great-grandchildren before I die. You two haven’t even gone on a honeymoon yet! That won’t do— newlyweds should take time to celebrate.”

“Don’t say that,” Brian chides gently. “You’ll be around to spoil a whole football team’s worth of great-grandkids.”

You kick his shin from under the table, to which Brian doesn’t react— of course he doesn’t.

“I hope you don’t feel like I’m pressuring you, dear.” She turns to you. “It’s just that, I want to see the both of you happy and settled while I can.”

You settle with an awkward smile, though you’re sure it comes off as more of a grimace.

Out of everybody in this room, the old lady seems to be the only one who doesn’t make you feel like you’re under a microscope. She’s warm, affectionate, and genuinely delighted to have you in the family, which is why you can’t find it in you to tell her the truth— that you’re not in love with her grandson, and you don’t think you ever will be.

“But, speaking of honeymoons.” Brian swallows his food. “I do have a work trip coming up. Maybe we could make something out of it. What do you think, love?” He turns to you with a boyish grin, and you swear, if you hear another one of his stupid nicknames leave his mouth, you might just combust.

In anger, of course.

You frown. “A work trip is not a honeymoon.”

“It is if we say it is.” He shrugs, nonchalant. “Especially if it’s in the city of love.”

“Ooh, Paris!” This time, your mother gushes. With the way both Brian’s parents and yours have been quiet throughout the entire duration of dinner, you’d almost forgotten that they were there to begin with. Of course, your mother wouldn’t be your mother if she has to stay silent for very long, and the moment her sharp eyes meet yours, you know that the decision is already made for you.

You’re going to Paris.

You haven’t had a good sleep in days.

With the new project at work and your trip coming up, your schedule is packed, and with the endless emails and phone calls that don’t seem to stop, you’re not given the time to breathe, let alone rest.

It’s nearing midnight, and you find yourself still in the living room, the chandelier dimmed and your only source of light as it accompanies you while you finish up your report. You’ve been at it for hours, and your eyes are starting to blur from the screen, but you force yourself to push through.

You barely even hear the sound of footsteps until Brian stops next to the television, leaning against the wall as he watches you.

“You’re still working?” He asks, his tone quiet and laced with something you can’t really put a finger on. A part of you has a hunch, but you don’t want to acknowledge it.

“Yeah. I just gotta finish this before we leave. I’ll be fine,” you mutter distractedly, not even bothering to spare him a glance.

Brian doesn’t say anything as he continues to watch you, and you continue typing, hoping he gets the hint and leaves you alone.

“You need to take a break,” he finally says, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“What I need is to finish this report, Brian.” You finally look up to give him a glare, and you’re surprised to see that for once, he’s being serious, devoid of the usual teasing shit-eating grin he always wears. Still, you don’t waver. “You’re not exactly helping by being here.”

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. You need a break,” he repeats, his tone more firm this time. Still, there’s no real anger in it, only concern, and that’s the one thing you’ve been trying not to acknowledge. Your chest starts to twist uncomfortably, unfamiliar with this side of him.

You roll your eyes wordlessly, knowing starting an argument with him would only take up your time, and that’s the one thing you don’t have enough of right now.

You hear Brian sigh before he steps towards you, gently taking the laptop off your lap before placing it on the coffee table in front of you.

“Seriously-“ you scoff before getting to your feet, heart thumping erratically as your frustration finally bubbles over. “What’s it to you? Why do you keep acting like I’m helpless?” You snap. “I can handle this! I don’t need you to tell me what to do every five minutes!”

Brian doesn’t flinch. “I’m not telling you what to do, I’m telling you what’s good for you. And what’s good for you right now is to take a damn break.” Despite the tick of his jaw, his voice is calm, too calm. “You’re not fine,” he continues, a quiet challenge in his voice. “And you don’t have to pretend with me.”

That is what makes you crack.

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the exhaustion, mixed with anger— hell, it’s probably all the emotions you’ve been suppressing since you got cheated on and then getting married the following month— because the next thing you know, you’re crying uncontrollably with no signs of stopping.

You drop to the sofa, burying your face in your hands as you sob, your shoulders trembling with the weight of it all. You don’t even want to look at Brian; the last thing you need is his sympathy.

“Just go,” you croak, voice muffled behind your hands. “I’m fine. I’m just tired, okay?”

Brian doesn’t say anything, and for a moment, you think he actually left, until you feel him kneel down in front of you, gently prying your hands off your face.

For some reason, you let him.

He brings his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks gently as he wipes your tears. You shake your head to get him to stop, embarrassed, but he doesn’t move away, only holding you firmer.

“You’re not fine,” he murmurs, his voice a lot quieter now, but his tone is one you haven’t heard before. Soft. Almost tender. “And that’s okay. You don’t have to do this alone. Not as long as I’m here.”

His words catch you off-guard. You hadn’t realised just how much you needed to hear that, too used to carrying everything yourself, always being the strong one, so hearing Brian say that feels like a lifeline.

The fact that he’s actually there, not telling you to fix it or get over it, but simply… acknowledging it, makes everything feel a little less impossible, especially after he says:

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

You sniff before looking away. “You’re so annoying,” you mumble, taking his hands to remove them from your face, but you don’t let go as you let them rest on your lap.

Neither does he.

“You bring this up tomorrow, and I’ll kill you.”

Brian laughs, his eyes crinkling as he does so, and somehow, the sight doesn’t annoy you as much as you know it should.

“You’re joking,” you deadpan, fingers resting loosely on your luggage handle as you stare at the room before you. You turn to Brian. “One bed? Why the hell would you book a suite with a single bed?!”

“Grandma wanted to gift us. I couldn’t say no,” he utters with absolute indifference, like you’re both not standing before a king size bed with flower petals scattered all over it in the shape of a giant heart. The sight makes you shudder.

“It’s fine. I’ll just take the couch.”

“You better,” you murmur, too tired to deal with his nonchalance today. You had just gotten out of a fifteen hour flight— like that wasn’t already terrible enough. The fact that it was Brian Kang that you flew with made it all the more agonising.

He was the type of person who insisted on arriving at the airport way before necessary— which, in your case, meant that the three hours you thought you had to pack your luggage were cramped into a single, stress-filled one.

It didn’t help that Brian had a lot to say about your lack of preparation, chastising you for not packing earlier, which of course, then naturally spiralled into an argument that lasted twenty minutes (though, it was more of you yelling while he remained infuriatingly composed).

By the time you were good to go, you’re exhausted, out of breath, and completely over it. Meanwhile, Brian loaded both your luggages into the car with effortless ease like it was nothing.

Like the responsible adult he was, he had checked in for the both of you on time, and even went as far as to listen to the safety instructions in the plane intently like he was in a lecture. At that point, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he were to whip out a notepad and pen to jot down notes.

He was completely insufferable.

And now that you’re finally in Paris, some distance from Brian would do you good, you think— except, of course, he has plans.

While all you want is to sink into the ridiculously plush hotel bed and knock out for a few hours, Brian is already chattering on about his itinerary like he’s pitching a business proposal. Truthfully, you could barely even make out the places he’s listing with how lethargic you are, and he only stops when he realises you’re being weirdly unresponsive.

You’re fast asleep.

Younghyun scoffs to himself as he stares at the slow rise and fall of your back, your body curled up under the covers as you snore softly. Usually, he’d have something to say about how you shouldn’t be lying on the bed without changing out of your outside clothes first, about how you never listen to him when he tells you to get enough rest, maybe even tease you about how you always insist you won’t fall asleep right away, only for you to be knocked out cold the moment your head hits the pillow.

But for once, he lets it go.

Because despite how much you get on his nerves, and no matter how stubborn you are, he knows you’re exhausted. And maybe, he doesn’t mind giving in to you this time.

With a soft sigh, he gets up from the sofa and grabs his coat, making sure not to wake you up as he closes the door behind him softly. If you won’t take care of yourself, then he’d just have to do it for you. And if you’re too stubborn to go out to eat— well, maybe bringing something back would make it easier.

✦ ✦ ✦

By the time you stir awake, it’s dark, and you realise that you’re alone. You wonder if Brian actually did up and leave to go on that walk along the Seine he had been talking about earlier, and for a split second, you feel guilty. You quickly snap out of it, jolting up in the process.

“Am I going insane?” You laugh humourlessly to yourself, running a hand through your tangled hair. “Why the hell should I feel bad for him? He’s not my responsibility. He’s a grown man!” You try to justify, but deep down, there’s a feeling you can’t shake.

You didn’t even ask if he was okay, if he needed help, if he needed something. Nothing.

You groan fall back into the pillows, kicking your feet against the covers in frustration. Your hands find your head once again, and you tug on your hair. “Get out of my head, Brian Kang.”

“Why? Miss me already?”

You sit up again, this time twice as fast and almost falling off the bed in the process.

“I-I wasn’t talking about you,” you manage to sneer, to which Brian chuckles in response as he kicks off his shoes.

“Sure. Come eat.”

You frown, only now noticing the takeout bags he has in his hands before he places them on the coffee table in front of the sofa. As embarrassed as you are, you can’t deny that you’re hungry, so begrudgingly, you pad towards him.

You wait for Brian to shrug off his coat, his coat which you’re now noticing is damp and covered in little droplets. You didn’t even realise that it had been raining, and the same unfamiliar feeling tugs on your heart strings again.

“Really? You couldn’t just wait until the rain stopped?” You mumble, keeping your tone as casual as possible as you start unwrapping your food.

Brian shrugs. “It was just a little rain.”

“Yeah, well, don’t complain if you fall sick tonight and end up having to skip on your meeting tomorrow. I’m not gonna be the one staying awake to take care of you.”

Brian peers at you through his lashes with a knowing smile on his lips, and it only makes you realise how you may have sounded a little too concerned for your liking.

“I-I’m not worried about you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, turning back to your food. You’re not sure if you can continue staring at him without turning yourself into a blubbering fool even more.

Brian laughs, but he doesn’t push it. “Speaking of tomorrow, do you have anywhere you want to visit? We can go after I’m done with work,” he answers breezily, placing a peeled shrimp in your container before resuming with his meal.

You, on the other hand, are frozen in your spot, still trying to process his gesture. You stare at the shrimp in confusion before glancing at him again, but Brian doesn’t even acknowledge you.

“Didn’t you already have a whole itinerary planned?” You ask when you finally find your voice.

“Yes, but seeing as we’re on a honeymoon, we should do things we both like, no?”

“This is not a honeymoon, Brian. Call it what it is, a work trip.”

“Younghyun.” His voice softens in a way that makes your heart tighten. “I know you’ve been working a lot lately, so this is your chance to enjoy Paris. We’ll make the most of it together.”

You want to argue, but somehow the words never come.You know what it is, and you’re finally ready to acknowledge it— the small pang of guilt that creeps into your chest.

“It’s fine,” you say with a sigh. “I don’t really have anything I want to do anyway.” You shrug as nonchalantly as you could, despite knowing that it’s a lie.

Of course, there are things you want to do while you’re here— things that you know Brian wouldn’t necessarily enjoy, and things that certainly wouldn’t fit in his structured itinerary. But you can’t find it in you to say anything, not after everything he’s done.

As much as you hate to admit it, and despite how infuriating and annoying you still think he is, he’s the only one who’s been doing everything while you’ve barely even contributed to the trip. Your mind goes back to his coat again, his stupid, damp coat, and the thought of him being caught in the rain all to get you some food just because you refused to go out today leaves an uncomfortable weight in the pit of your stomach.

So, you don’t say anything— for once, you’ll give in and agree to go along with his plans, even if it means having to drag your feet to the places you know won’t excite you.

Because the last thing you want to do is disappoint him.

✦ ✦ ✦

Brian is already asleep when you step out of the shower, the three-seater sofa only barely accommodating to his tall form. His legs are bent in a way that doesn’t look very comfortable, and he has his arm draped over his eyes to block out the street lights from the window next to him.

There it is again— the dreadful feeling of guilt that twists and turns in your stomach. It doesn’t help that the rain has gotten heavier now, the occasional sound of thunder a reminder that you won’t be getting a peaceful sleep tonight.

With a sigh, you trudge towards the bed, making sure to face the wall and not Brian as you get under the covers. Try as you might, sleep doesn’t come to you very easily, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’ve already had a nap earlier, the relentless rain outside, or purely the guilt from making Brian sleep on the couch. Maybe it’s all three.

You turn on your back, eyes wide open as you stare blankly at the ceiling.

“Are you asleep?” The question escapes you before you could stop it, and you cringe at how loud your voice sounded in the otherwise quiet room.

Surprisingly, Brian hums in reply, but he remains unmoving when you glance at him.

Before you could change your mind, you remove the extra pillow from behind your head, placing it to your right before you quickly turn back on your side.

“Just come here. But any funny business and you’re dead.”

It’s silent for a while, and you think that maybe Brian had gone back to sleep or is simply just ignoring you, until you feel the bed dip.

He exhales a small chuckle as he settles beside you, and even despite the grogginess in his voice, it’s laced with amusement.

“You say that like I’d even dare.”

It’s teasing, but he doesn’t push his luck. Instead, he shifts— just enough to get comfortable, but careful not to press too close. With the pillow now in between the both of you, it’s not like he could, anyway.

A beat passes before he adds, softer this time. “Go to sleep.”

You shut your eyes, opting not to reply him. While that had managed to clear up a little bit of your conscience, there’s still one issue you’re left with: the thunder.

It’s not like you’re necessarily scared of them. They just make you a little jumpy, is all.

Even now, when it booms and splits the dark in a second-long white glow, you yelp, only to bite your tongue right after and hoping Brian hadn’t heard you.

Silence stretches between you, until you feel him reach over to remove the pillow in the middle before it lands on the floor with a thud. You finally turn to peek over your shoulder, ready to ask him what the hell he’s doing.

But of course, Brian doesn’t say anything, eyes still shut like he’s already asleep. In the empty space between the two of you now lies his arm, outstretched, waiting, like a quiet invitation.

Just as you’re about to chide at him, another strike of thunder crashes through the sky, louder this time. So of course, naturally, you jolt.

Forward.

Right into him.

You gasp. “Bri-“

He shushes you. This asshole has the audacity to shush you as he wraps his other arm around your torso, pulling you impossibly closer.

He exhales, his voice low and laced with sleep. “You’re so jumpy.”

Your words get caught in your throat, so for a while, you don’t say anything. You can’t. 

“Am not,” you huff, though it doesn’t really come out as convincing given you’re practically curled against his chest.

He hums, and you know he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t argue. And when thunder strikes for the third time, you feel his arms tighten around you in silent consolation.

You shut your eyes tightly, though this time, it’s not out of fear anymore. No, right now, you’re trying to ignore his warmth that’s already seeping into yours, and the way his featherlight touches are making your throat go drier than a desert.

You think you might need a glass of water, but you don’t exactly want to leave your spot right now.

“One word about this, Brian, and I-“

“You’ll kill me. I know,” he chuckles, the vibration of his chest against yours making you all too aware of how close you are.

You scowl, though it lacks any real bite. Smug bastard.

Still, you don’t move away.

And neither does he.

You wake up to an empty bed.

As you sit up to rub the sleep from your eyes, you almost forget where you are, still disoriented by the warmth lingering on the sheets beside you.

But then you hear the faint rustling from the other side of the room, and that’s when you see Brian by the vanity, currently buttoning up his white dress shirt with his tie still undone and slung over his neck.

Your eyes widen, and you find yourself falling back to the mattress as you stare at the ceiling, breaths slightly laboured.

What the hell is going on? Why is your heart beating so fast? Are you having a heart attack?

You squeeze your eyes shut, even going as far as to press your palms against your cheeks as though doing that would magically erase the memory from your mind.

Nope. Didn’t work. You did not just get flustered over Brian Kang of all people.

No matter how much you try to will it away, the image is already burned in your head— the sharp lines of his collarbones, the way his fingers worked the buttons with ease, the single strand of hair that falls in his forehead despite his conscious effort to style it.

“You okay?”

Suddenly, his voice is way too near for comfort, and your eyes fly open to see Brian peering at you over the side of the bed, his brows knit in confusion.

Thankfully, his shirt is buttoned up all the way now, sparing you from details you don’t want to see (rather, details that you know could potentially cause you to short circuit).

You must have taken a while to answer, gaping at him like a deer in headlights, because you only finally snap out of it when you register him reaching out to you.

“I’m fine!” You blurt, your hand extending out just in time to catch his wrist, his palm already dangerously close to your head.

“You sure?” He asks, not the least bit convinced. “You’re all red. Are you down with a fever?”

“No. Are you?”

Brian only arches his brows at your response, and you finally let him go, scooting further to his side of the bed to put some distance between you two, avoiding his gaze.

“Alright…” he scoffs, a tinge of humour laced in his tone. “I’ll be back before lunch to pick you up, okay? We could go sightseeing if you’re up for that.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you mumble. You had expected him to leave, but he doesn’t, and you finally turn to him again. “What?”

Brian tilts his head slightly, studying you with the same expression that always gets under your skin. Then, without warning, he leans in— just a little, but enough for your breath to catch in your throat.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks again, lower this time, like he knows something is definitely up; like he knows exactly the reason behind why your face is burning and he’s just waiting for you to admit it.

You swallow, gripping the sheets. “I said I’m fine.”

Brian studies you for a second more before he hums, finally straightening up. You don’t miss the flicker of amusement in his eyes, and you know he’s not pushing you further solely because he doesn’t want to embarrass you— at least, more than you already did yourself.

“Okay. If you say so.” He grabs his coat, throwing it over his shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll see you later, love.”

And with that, he finally turns to leave, just like nothing ever happened.

You exhale sharply, bringing the covers over your head.

You’re so doomed.

✦ ✦ ✦

Your plans after lunch started at the Louvre. It was where you found out that Brian was someone who enjoyed art and history— because why wouldn’t he, right? You thought the gallery was far too crowded and you didn’t see the point in staring at paint splattered on canvas, but seeing how focused he was on reading every single plaque and description, you decided to just let him be.

He’d talk to you about it, too— feed you with fun facts about the artist or history of the painting which really, you couldn’t care less about, but as you took in the way his features would light up whenever he saw a painting he recognised, or the way his lips would twitch into a satisfied smile whenever he shared about something he found interesting, you found yourself holding back on any complaints.

Instead, you nodded along, when in reality you were much more focused on the enthusiasm in his voice and the way his fox-like eyes would crinkle at the corners when he smiled, making him look impossibly more endearing.

That was a thought you were quick to dispose of, of course, because this is Brian Kang you’re talking about. There was no way you were going to admit to anybody that your heart was starting to beat a little too fast to your liking whenever you were around him.

He took you on a boat cruise on the Seine right after, and you did complain this time, bringing up the movie you saw recently about sharks under Paris and how there was no way in hell you were going to let yourself get eaten by one. You weren’t about to tell him that it was boat rides in general that made you uneasy, but it seemed that Brian knew that already without having to ask. He merely laughed and held your hand, and that kept you quiet for the remainder of the ride.

You reach your final destination just as the sun is about to retire for the day, a quiet spot in Champ de Mars facing the Eiffel Tower. Your legs are hurting from all the walking, and with your last meal being lunch a few hours ago, you’re starving.

It was a good thing Brian had half a mind to stop by a sandwich shop on the way here, because your dinner was devoured within minutes, and you’re now left marvelling over the pretty lights that glimmer on the lattice structure before you.

You had no complaints, and it seems that Brian doesn’t have anything to say as well as he too remains quiet, but what you don’t know is that he’s looking at you.

The golden glow of the Eiffel Tower bounces off your skin, catching in the delicate curves of your face. Younghyun might have spent the day at the Louvre, surrounded by centuries’ worth of masterpieces, but hell if you’re not the prettiest thing he’s laid his eyes on.

“Sweetheart.” The name gently rolls of his tongue like he’s been saying it for years, and you hum in reply, clearly distracted, until realisation sets in and your brows furrow ever so slightly as you catch your own slip up.

You turn to him with your signature frown, but Younghyun knows it lacks any real bite. “What?”

He exhales a quiet laugh before pursing his lips, inhaling softly. “I wish you would’ve just told me that you weren’t enjoying yourself today.”

Your expression wavers, but only for a second. “What are you talking about?” You mutter before turning away, like you always do when you’re flustered. “That’s not true. I had fun.”

“You get this look on your face when you’re forcing yourself to have fun,” he muses. “Like you’re watching a movie with a bad plot and you don’t want to admit that you didn’t like it.”

You only scoff, further confirming his assumptions.

“You don’t talk back like you always do. You held back on your complaints when usually, you’d jump at the first opportunity to argue with me. Every time I caught you zoning out, you weren’t looking at what I was showing you— you were looking at me.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Of course, he saw right through you.

“Maybe you just had something on your face.” You glance at him.

Brian laughs. “Even you don’t believe that.”

You roll your eyes, but he isn’t done.

“You should have said something,” he continues, softer this time. “I would’ve done anything you wanted, you know?”

“Even if I wanted to go bungee jumping?”

Brian stares at you softly, a hint of a smile on his face. “I’d tie a rope to my ankle and dive a hundred feet headfirst if it makes you happy.”

Something warm stirs in your chest, but you don’t acknowledge it. You don’t want to, because if you do, then you’d have to admit that this tightening feeling in your chest could be something dangerously close to fondness.

That night, you place your pillow next to you before turning on your side, your back to Brian as he finishes up his work on the sofa.

You feel the weight of his stare as he shuts his laptop, and slowly, cautiously, he gets under the covers next to you, almost like he’s testing the waters.

“Are you asleep?” He asks, voice soft.

You don’t answer right away, not wanting to break the fragile moment. “No.”

He waits for a few moments, almost as though expecting you to elaborate, but when you don’t, he asks, “why?”

You stay quiet again, biting your lip, unsure of what to say. You don’t really have an excuse as to why you’re still awake even after the day you’ve just had. It’s not like it’s raining outside, and it’s not like there’s thunder to keep you up.

It’s not like you were waiting for him.

But Brian doesn’t press. He only stays silent for a while longer before exhaling softly, and just like yesterday, he removes the pillow that separates the two of you before shifting closer, his arm finding your waist as he pulls you flush against his chest.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmurs, like he’s read your mind.

Again, you don’t respond, but you don’t pull away either. You turn in his hold, slipping your arm over his torso just as he pulls you closer, and you try to ignore the unfamiliar feeling that constricts your beating heart.

You should be telling him that it’s wrong, that you don’t need this, but you don’t, letting yourself melt in his embrace instead.

Because for the first time, something about the way he holds you feels right.

Paris was weird, so much so that you were relieved the moment you arrived back in Korea. Even if it meant going back to your routine and getting drowned in backlog at work, it was better than having nothing to do, because having time to yourself meant having time to think about Brian Kang, which you found yourself to do every night before you went to sleep.

At first, you blamed it on the jet lag, but even after a week has passed and you've both well settled back into your usual rhythm which consisted of sleeping in your own separate rooms, you still found yourself thinking about him as you lay in your bed, staring at the ceiling. You wondered if Brian thought about Paris just as much as you did, about how safe he made you feel as he wrapped you in his arms, about how the steady beat of his heart, as opposed to your erratic one, had lulled you to sleep even with the raging storm outside. You wondered if he missed your warmth the way you missed his, and how easy it was to fall asleep beside him, like your body has decided for you that his presence was something to seek comfort in.

You wanted to hate it. Because if you didn't, then you'd have to admit that it wasn't just his warmth that you missed— it was him.

And that was something you weren't ready to face, at least not yet.

So instead, you busied yourself with something— anything, to keep your mind off him. And somehow, that brought you here, standing in the kitchen with his grandmother, sleeves rolled up to your elbows and apron tied snugly around your torso as she guided you with a recipe.

You don't even know how you got here. One second, you were staring blankly at your kitchen counter, contemplating on whether to make yourself some instant noodles, and the next you're on the phone with Grandma Kang— and trust that even the mere thought of this is enough to make you cringe— if she could teach you how to make one of his favourite dishes.

You don't know what it is. Was it guilt? Gratitude? Or maybe— no. You weren't going to entertain the thought that it was something more than that. Perhaps, you just wanted to do something nice for him, to repay him for putting up with you, even make him a celebratory meal for successfully closing a deal after his meeting in Paris.

That was all to it.

"So, how was the honeymoon?" Grandma Kang asks as she stirs pot of kimchi stew.

The old lady, bless her, had arrived within minutes from your phone call, eager to spend time with her— and you quote— her favourite granddaughter.

She was the only who ever really checked in on you ever since you and Brian got married, constantly calling just to ask how you are and reminding you to eat if you haven't. She's just like Brian, and the love you felt from her was one you never really got from your parents. It's warm, unconditional— real.

Which is why you feel guilty.

Because whatever you have with Brian isn't, and all you're doing is deceiving her and letting her believe in something that isn't true.

You swallow, pretending to focus on slicing the vegetables. "It was... nice."

"Just nice?" She muses with a raised brow. "I haven't seen my grandson that happy in a long time, you know."

"He's always happy," you say lightly. "Nothing new there."

"No, dear. This was different."

You don't know how to respond to that, so you don't. You don't want to look too much into the reason behind Brian's unusually good mood, according to his own grandmother.

Grandma Kang sets the spoon down before turning to you.

"I know, you know."

Your grip tightens around hilt of the knife. "Know what?"

She smiles at you. "About you and Younghyun. It isn't real, is it?"

You stomach twists at her words. "Grandma, I-"

"You don't have to explain anything, my dear. I'm old, not blind," she chuckles, turning back to the pot. "My grandson has a lot of love to give," she says gently. "And he does it without expecting anything in return."

You exhale shakily, setting your knife down. "I know that."

She hums. "Then you should know that he's not trying to hurt you. He never has." She pauses to sigh. "Stupid boy. I know he only got married to appease me. His parents set him up with so many girls, you know? He was always polite to them, but his heart was never fully in it. Until you." Grandma Kang smiles at you softly. "It's scary, right? But that's also the beauty of falling in love."

"I don't-" you cut yourself off. Because what could you even say? That she's wrong? That you don't-

You can't. Because then you think you'd be lying.

"Grandma? I didn't know you were coming over." Brian appears in the kitchen, surprise etched on his features. He has his blazer draped over his shoulder, his tie loosened, and the sight makes your throat dry.

His eyes are quick to find yours, and you quickly turn away before he could notice the tears welling in your eyes— tears you're only now registering are there in the first place.

You don't even want to know why you're crying— you seem to be doing that a lot lately— but you may have a hunch.

"Ah, these damn onions, am I right?" Grandma Kang huffs, planting her hands on your shoulders as she moves you behind her; you're silently grateful for that. You take that time to dab your eyes dry, clearing your throat slightly and hoping your red face wouldn't give you away. "Why? Is there something wrong with me wanting to spend time with my favourite granddaughter?"

"Of course not, Grandma," Brian says gently, and you hate how the softness of his voice affects you. By the time you turn around, he's already peering at the dishes on the island, and he looks up at you with a grin on his face. "Did you make all of this?"

Somehow, his question makes your cheeks burn. You think it's embarrassment, having been caught doing something nice for a husband you never wanted in the first place.

You don't even know who you are anymore.

"With a little help," you answer, but your voice comes off as quiet. If Brian notices how uncharacteristically awkward you're being, he doesn't say anything.

"Give yourself a little more credit, dear! Younghyun, a lady who can cook this well? You better treat her right, or I'll come knock some sense into you myself."

Brian doesn't look at his grandma despite her chiding, still looking at you like you're the most valuable thing in the world. "Don't worry, Grandma." His gaze grows softer. "I don't plan on letting her go anytime soon."

✦ ✦ ✦

You find yourself wide awake again despite it being way past midnight. It's turned into a routine at this point, and you have no one else to blame but your housemate who's probably already fast asleep at the other side of the house.

You groan. You hate Brian for making you feel this way, and you really wish you meant it.

Knowing that staying in your room wouldn't do you any good, you decide to head to the kitchen— perhaps a hot drink could help ease the turmoil in your heart.

But alas, your heart only starts to thump faster when you realise the lights are already on, and you find Brian leaning against the counter as he nurses a mug of tea.

"Hey. Can't sleep?"

Your words catch in your throat, so you settle with a nod as you open the refrigerator for the mere sake of wanting something to do.

"You shouldn't be drinking something cold this late. Want me to make you some tea?" He offers, and despite yourself, you still find it in you to roll your eyes at his gentle nagging.

"No, I'm good."

"Milk?"

"I'm not a child."

"I'm afraid that's about all the options I have for you then, love," Brian chuckles before he stops, tone growing softer now. "What's the matter?"

You close the door, finally turning to him. "What are you talking about?"

"You just seem distracted lately."

"I'm fine," you mutter, and even though you know Brian isn't convinced, he doesn't push any further.

"Listen, if you're having trouble sleeping..." he trails off. "You can stay with me."

You blink at his words. "What?"

"If you want to." He pauses as though to gauge for your response, before adding, "would it help?"

You hesitate. You hate how easy the way he says it, so gentle and sincere, giving you an out like he knows how much you struggle with expressing your thoughts.

And as much as you still do, you know there's no use in hiding it anymore when he's already seen through you completely.

So you settle with a nod, a slight one, but one Brian manages to catch nonetheless.

His smile doesn't widen, and he doesn't gloat. Instead, he sets his mug in the sink before he takes your hand. "C'mon," he says softly. "Let's go to sleep."

The walk back to his room is a quiet one, and by the time you step inside, Brian lets go of your hand just long enough to pull back the covers.

"Go on," he says, nodding towards the bed.

You stall, but only for a moment, before slipping under the sheets. The mattress dips as he settles in beside you, and any distance between the two of you disappears in an instant.

Brian shifts slightly, turning on his side to face you. "Better?" He murmurs.

You still don't trust yourself to speak, so you only nod.

He smiles at you then, lips quirking up ever so slightly as he reaches over, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. The touch is fleeting, but it sends something through you.

"Good," he whispers, and like it's the most natural thing in the world, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you close— just close enough for you to hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat you missed.

And with your head resting just above his heart, you note the way his breaths even out as he falls asleep, and you know you should too, but your mind refuses to settle.

"Brian?" You call out softly, so softly you think you never meant for him to hear it at all. Maybe that's for the best.

"I think..." you swallow, gripping the fabric of shirt a little tighter. "I think I'm falling for you."

You let your words hang in the air, fragile yet certain, because you don't regret it at all.

And just like the first time Brian's held you in his arms, you feel like you could finally breathe again.

As it turns out, coming to terms with your feelings was more difficult than you thought, especially when every little thing Brian did seemed to mean something now.

The way his hand would find the small on your back when you crossed the street, the way he always ensured your coffee was the perfect temperature before handing it to you, even down to the way he looked at you— soft, knowing, like he could see right through every excuse you tried to make for yourself.

Still, you tried your best to brush it off. You're a grown woman, not some schoolgirl with a silly crush. You could handle this.

Or at least, that's what you told yourself.

Which is why, when you find yourself at his workplace, lunch bag in hand with a bento box specially prepared (a completely normal, thoughtful thing to do), you ignore the way your heart races at the thought of seeing him.

His receptionist greets you with a smile, telling you that he's inside his office, and you make the short walk down the hallway. For some reason, you're nervous, and while you'd usually blame it on your nerves, you should have known that it was something else this time.

Because there he is, smiling with another woman as she laughs at whatever he'd said. And Brian— that asshole— isn't doing anything to stop her either. He doesn't stop her when she bats her eyelashes at him, leaning in too close for comfort, and he doesn't stop her when she calls him Younghyun.

Younghyun, the one name that for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to say, yet hated to hear from anybody else.

You left right then and there, slamming the bag on the receptionist's table on your way out.

"Tell him he can eat this if he wants," you mutter without turning back.

The poor receptionist stares at your retreating back before she hesitantly picks up the bag. You're obviously in a mood, and quite frankly, Eunji wanted no part of it. Not like she has a choice.

"Sir?" She knocks on Younghyun's door. "Your wife dropped this off."

Younghyun looks up from his paperwork, brows furrowed when he sees the bag in her hands. "I thought I told you to just let her in if she comes by."

"Well, yes." She tightens the grip on the bag. "I did send her to your office right away, sir, but she left not even a minute later."

Younghyun tilts his head as he stares at the bag. "And what time was this?"

"Five minutes ago, sir. She just left."

Younghyun takes in a breath before nodding. "Okay, just put in on the table. Thanks, Eunji."

Eunji nods before scurrying out, leaving Younghyun to lean against his chair, jaw tightening. This wasn't like you— it wasn't very often that you'd come by his office, only doing so when you started cooking, but the times that you do, you'd usually make him come down to get you, or at the very least, have a snarky remark at the ready as you handed him his food. But this? This was something else entirely.

Of course, the way you've been avoiding him recently wasn't lost on him, and Younghyun couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

He thought everything was fine— better than fine, even, now that you were sharing a bed, falling asleep in his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world, but somehow you felt more distant than ever.

He started noticing the little things at first— the way you still curled up next to him at night, but never reaching out to him first. He'd pull you close, only for you to stiffen for a moment before letting yourself melt in his embrace, as though you had to remind yourself that it was okay. The way you used to linger in the mornings, pretending to still be asleep so you wouldn't have to move away from him so soon, only to be the first to slip out of bed now. You barely meet his eyes when you talk to him, and you no longer found fault with him in the littlest things, be it the way he'd organise the fridge or how he'd double check his schedules multiple times even though nothing has changed.

And the worst part? You still made him coffee in the mornings, still took care of his meals, still made sure he had everything he needed— all except you, which was the one thing he actually did need.

The silence where your bickering used to be is almost worst than the distance. At least when you argued, it showed that you were paying attention to him.

Which is why now, when he finally finds you in the kitchen, awake and not pretending to be asleep to avoid him like you do, he decides to end this once and for all.

"You didn't tell me you dropped by earlier," he starts off, as casual as possible as he leans against the refrigerator, watching you do the dishes.

You don't even turn to him. "You seemed busy. Didn't want to interrupt."

"Busy? It was lunch time, love."

You don't answer, and Younghyun sighs. "Alright." He steps towards you before turning off the faucet, and you turn to him with a scowl on your face.

"Bri-"

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong, or am I going to have to force it out of you?"

You waver slightly, not all used to this sight of Brian. He's isn't necessarily angry, but the edge in his voice as opposed to the usual gentleness that you're used to is enough to tell you that he's, at the very least, annoyed.

Still, you hold his stare. "Nothing's wrong."

"Don't lie to me." He clenches his jaw. "Why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you," you retort through gritted teeth before attempting to move past him, but Brian cages you in between his arms. You glower at him. "Let me go."

"Is this about earlier?" He asks.

Your fingers twitch. "What?"

"You saw me with her, didn't you?"

Of course. Of course, he's seen through you yet again. You let out a humourless scoff, not ready to admit it just yet.

"You think I'm jealous? I don't care what you do, or who you talk to, Brian. I don't care if you want to let other people call you Younghyun, or if you want to flirt, or-"

"Flirt? Youngji's my cousin! She was at our wedding? She's getting married next month."

You part your lips to reply, but nothing comes out. The room feels unbearably still, the weight of your own foolishness settling over you like a heavy blanket.

Brian exhales sharply as he runs a hand through his hair, and he finally takes a step back for you to breathe. "You don't even call me Younghyun," he mutters, scoffing humourlessly. "But you hate hearing it from anybody else."

You shut your eyes. "Younghyun, I-"

"Say that again."

You breath hitches, and when you open your eyes, he's already looking at you.

You lips quiver, and you don't know what possesses you to obey, but his name rolls of your tongue again in a hushed whisper. "Younghyun."

He smiles at you, and you now realise it isn't the same one you see him give to Youngji. It isn't the same as the polite, effortless ones he gives to strangers, or the one he gives to his family, full of warmth.

No, this one is different.

This one is just for you.

And for the first time since this whole mess started, you finally understand.

"Now tell me," he urges gently as he takes your hands into his. "Tell me why it bothered you so much."

It seems like he already knows, and he's purposely giving you the chance to say it.

"Because I want to be the one to make you smile like that," you say quietly, and Younghyun scoffs as he shakes his head.

"Baby, do you even see the way I look at you?" He asks, almost in exasperation as though he couldn't believe you aren't getting it yet. "You think I look at everyone like they hung up all the stars in the sky? You think I smile at everyone like they're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me?" His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. "Because I don't. It's just you. It's always just been you."

You don't stop the tears that roll down your cheeks, and Younghyun is quick to catch them as he cups your face gently before he leans his forehead against yours.

"Tell me," he murmurs. "Whatever it is that you've been holding back. Say it."

"Younghyun." Your lips quiver, and he reassures you with an equally teary smile. "I'm in love with you."

Relief flickers across his face, and despite his own emotions, his lips widen even more in a way that makes your heart ache.

"I knew I wanted you the moment you called me to bail you out of jail," he says softly, as though going any louder would break the moment. "So if you say you love me," he swallows, throat working as he lets his first tear fall, "just know that I've loved you for way longer."

You let out a shaky laugh, biting your inner lip as more tears slip free. He chuckles, wiping them away again as she shakes his head.

"Can't believe you thought I'd look at anyone the way I look at you."

You sniff. "Shut up."

But you don't pull away when Younghyun leans in, and you don't stop him when he finally kisses you— soft and slow, like you have all the time in the world.